


Grocery Store Coupons

by shetheybrucebanner



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Actually so are Gwen and Riri, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), BAMF Peter Parker, Bisexual Peter Parker, Blood and Injury, Depression, Disordered Eating, Drinking, F/M, Johnny and Ned are oblivious, MJ Loves Horror Movies, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Murder Mystery, Not graphic it's just mentioned with the villain, Peter Parker Loves MJ, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter is a Little Shit, Pining, Referenced cannibalism, References to Depression, referenced suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28076877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetheybrucebanner/pseuds/shetheybrucebanner
Summary: Peter's spent a long time recovering, and he's finally ready for his senior year of college. MJ is back from Europe, he's patrolling again, things are going well at the Bugle (as well as they can be, considering his boss), and he's finally turning twenty-one!If only it wasn't for that damn Parker luck and his anxious brain-when a murderous new villain appears in the city, Peter starts to realize that maybe he's not okay as he thought.
Relationships: Gwen Stacy & Riri Williams, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Johnny Storm, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 11
Collections: Irondad Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> Hi loves! I am so so so excited to be posting my fic for the 2020 IronDad Fic Exchange! This year my gift recipient is seekrest, who I absolutely adored writing for! Their prompts that I used were college!aged Peter (being an adult chaotically), Tony and May having a friendly rivalry, and Peter using his brains to rescue himself/others. Hopefully, this fits these well! 
> 
> Just a few notes before the fic! First, I basically said screw you to canon, the Avengers figured out their crap and didn't actually fight in the Civil War. My headcanon is that Tony DID recruit Peter for the fight on the tarmac, but basically the fight didn't end up happening. BUT it's never specifically mentioned in this fic how Tony ended up meeting Peter, so I mean, go wild with personal headcanons y'know? Also, I tried to include characters from the comics as well, so Miles, Gwen, Riri, Johnny, they're in here too! I really enjoyed playing around with them and writing the relationships Peter has with them all. Similar to the situation with Tony, there's no specific explanation as to how Gwen, Miles, and Peter all met in this fic, so again, feel free to headcanon whatever you like, but at the end of the day, they're all Spider-people and call themselves the Spider-Team. They patrol different days of the week to split up the work. 
> 
> Second, I will be writing two sequels for this fic! I really loved the direction this went and honestly don't want to say goodbye to the plot and characters yet. One of the sequels will be an actual sequel, and one will be a sequel that's a prequel, if that makes sense. Peter is kind of going through it in this fic because of things that happened before this fic actually started, and I'd love to explore that.
> 
> This brings me to three: warnings. seekrest said angst was fine to be in this fic, but I tried to keep stuff very brief when it came to violence, etc. What does get explored fairly deeply is Peter's anxiety and depression; like I said he's recovering from some shitty stuff that happened to him before, and recovery isn't linear. Peter doesn't always take care of himself the best and he naturally has seen some awful stuff as a superhero, so I wanted to explore how his mental health affected his relationships, since those were such a huge part of this fic. As to the other tags: some violence, disordered blood, referenced suicidal ideation/cannibalism, I tried to keep these to very basic mentions! This is a murder mystery fic so people do die, and Peter does see some blood and wounds. In addition, there are some very brief references to Peter's mental health the previous year where he was in the mindset of not wanting to wake up and have to deal with things, but no direct mentions of any suicidal actions or behavior. For the cannibalism, it has to do with the villain, and again is very briefly mentioned in the final chapter of the fic. The disordered eating is mentioned the most, because when Peter feels anxious and sad, he feels nauseous. This is coming from my own personal experiences; Peter's family and friends do try to understand where this is coming from, but don't completely understand the relationship to Peter's anxiety and trauma to his inability to eat. I'll be putting warnings on each chapter for potential triggers, so please take care of yourself!
> 
> Chapter 1 Warnings: References to Peter's anxiety at the end of the chapter. Peter also has trouble finishing his dinner at the end of the chapter.

It was the buzzing of his phone that woke Peter up.

Rubbing his eyes, he propped himself up on his elbow, feeling for his phone in the mess of blankets that MJ had described as his nest the first time she had come over. Somehow, it had ended up near his ankles, and he unlocked it to see a flurry of new messages coming in. He opened Ned’s first, who had sent him a tweet in between a lot of excited key smashing.

_Breaking News: August 10th Declared National Spider-Team Day! Ceremony to be held at the Met, after-party at Stark Tower!_

Peter’s eyes narrowed as he saw a photo of Tony’s, grin on his face, underneath the headline of the article. He went back to the rest of the messages, groaning as he noticed the rest of his friends had sent him the same article. Thankfully, there was no message from May yet, but there was no doubt that she’d find out by her lunch break. He swore gossip traveled faster in the ER than the Bugle. Groaning, he shoved himself out of bed and pulled on his favorite hoodie, leaving his room to go grab some breakfast.

Sitting at the table was Johnny, a shit-eating smirk on his face as he scrolled on his phone. In front of him was a bowl of the cereal that Peter had expressed was his and his alone. The asshole had probably finished the rest of the box.

“Hey, congrats Spidey!” Not looking at his friend, Peter stuck up a middle finger and started digging in the fridge for some leftover pizza.

“You know, you live a door down from me. No need to text me when you could, I don’t know, knock on my door.”

“Well, I figured with your new hero status, it’d be too difficult to get your attention from the adoring fans.” Peter rolled his eyes, facing Johnny once he found the messily wrapped pieces of pizza.

“Believe it or not, Johnny, I’d prefer not having to share my birthday with Spiderman,” he explained, taking a bite of the cold pizza. Johnny gagged, but there was no point in offering to heat it up for Peter-he loved cold pizza.

“Last time I checked, you are Spiderman,” Miles shrugged, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a slice of pizza from Peter’s plate. “At least, you are on alternate days of the week. Hey, does this mean I get to celebrate your birthday with you this year?”

“Wow, we love an original joke, take up stand-up, Miles,” Peter snarked, looking over at his friend for any sign of how yesterday’s patrol had gone.

“Don’t worry, Mother Hen, it was all quiet,” Miles joked, noticing his friend. “Nothing out of the ordinary--couple muggings, pet some cats. It was a good time.”

“What you really need to worry about is how May is going to take this,” Johnny said, a big bite of cereal in his mouth. Thankfully, they had all gotten used to Johnny talking with his mouth full and were able to translate despite the giant chunks of marshmallow muffling his speech.

“Yeah, no shit. She swore that there was no way Tony would ever be able to top what she did last year, and here he is,” he groaned, checking his phone to read another text from Ned. “By the way, Johnny, Ned said you better have those new sneakers on his bed by the time he gets off of his shift.” Johnny shrugged, making some noise of acknowledgment as he started to drink the milk from his bowl.

“Peter, don’t you have work in like, twenty minutes?” Miles asked, looking up from his own phone with an eyebrow raised. Shit. Peter scrambled to shove the last bites of his pizza in his mouth, and ran out of the room to get ready, his friends laughing at his struggle. Some friends they were.

* * *

Thankfully, he hadn’t been late, but Betty had raised her eyebrows as a warning once he got to his desk. Great.

“He wanted to see you ten minutes ago,” she explained. Did it matter that his shift hadn’t required him to be there ten minutes ago? Of course not. When Jonah Jameson wanted to see you, you had better be there. “Good luck!” Peter didn’t even stop to put everything down on his desk, figuring he had better get this over with as soon as possible.

He went to Jameson’s office, dread growing in his stomach. May and Tony always swore that there was no reason for his boss to hate him, but considering that on the best days, Jameson outright ignored him, it was fair to say that Peter felt otherwise. Getting constantly yelled at and called a dumbass did that to a person. He knocked once and heard Jameson’s gruff voice call him in.

He looked up at Peter right away, a frown deeply etched into his face. Peter couldn’t help but wonder about that old wives’ tale, that if a person made an ugly face, it would stay stuck that way. Was Jameson even able to look anything other than absolutely displeased? Or was that just Peter’s talent, pissing off the person who signed his absolutely meager paychecks to no end?

“Late again, Parker.” Peter forced an apologetic smile on his face.

“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.” Definitely not true, though at least today he had technically been on time.

“Not too professional, I would say. Too busy talking to the Spider group about their newest claim to fame?” Peter knew an out when he saw one, and latched onto the suggestion.

“Mhm, they’re quite honored about it, really. They were-” He struggled to describe it, considering that at best between the three of them, Miles was amused, Gwen probably felt the same, while he was frankly annoyed. Luckily, Jameson’s talent for interrupting him stopped him from having to come up with a lie.

“I don’t pay you to write, Parker. I pay you to take photos. What are you doing August 10th?” Crap.

“I, well, it’s my birthday, but I hadn’t really planned on doing much-” Once again, Jameson interrupted.

“Perfect. You can go to this little honor party, shake hands, get some photos. Do your thing.” Peter’s eyes widened, his surprise momentarily making him forget that on August 10th he was supposed to be up there shaking hands and pretending like he didn’t want to curse out his mentor.

“You’re not sending one of the senior photographers?” Jameson rolled his eyes, sipping from his steaming, chipped mug of black coffee. A smiley face and the words, “No Bad Days” were on the mug, staring into Peter’s soul. Ironic.

“Despite the senior team having more finesse in taking a selfie than in your entire portfolio, even I can’t argue that your Spiderman work is...unmatched. So, unfortunately, you see my dilemma.” Jameson took another sip of the coffee, and Peter couldn’t help but wince. Wouldn’t that burn his tongue? “And I’m tasked with sending you out for what is, as I’m sure you realize, a valuable assignment. If you do well on this,” and here his boss looked absolutely pained, “we can discuss an increase in pay. But that’s dependent on you not fucking this up, Parker.”

An increase in pay would be a godsend. Despite Tony having offered multiple times to help him pay for his apartment, Peter had insisted on taking care of himself. It was his responsibility, after all. An increase in pay wouldn’t just take care of that, but he could maybe put some money aside for May’s retirement, even though his aunt had insisted multiple times that it wasn’t necessary. She had sacrificed so much for Peter, worked so hard, it was the least he could do.

“I definitely won’t fuck this up, sir,” Peter said, wincing a bit as the swear slipped out of his mouth. Jameson rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he muttered, turning back to the papers on his desk in an unspoken dismissal. Peter scrambled out of the office, eager to get out of the tense environment that always surrounded his boss. He wouldn’t make Jameson regret this--he couldn’t. He just needed to figure out how to be in two places at once, while taking great photos in a way that wouldn’t expose his entire identity. No problem. Right?

Betty looked up at him once he got back to his desk, and held out a cup of iced coffee for him. Thank god for Betty.

“I picked one up for you this morning, I just had the feeling today was going to be stressful,” she explained, turning back to her work. Betty had quickly gotten close to the senior writers for the International news section of the Bugle, and was working on a new piece about a slew of murders in Venice. It was the mention of stress that captured Peter’s attention, however.  
To put it simply, Betty didn’t really get stressed. Overloaded with work, yes. She and Peter had been working together at the Bugle since spring, and from the way she had loaded both her school and work schedule, she hadn’t really had much free time. But she had graduated in May, earlier than Peter and the rest of their friends. She had certainly seemed calmer over the summer, thankfully, and he wondered what could have stressed out the unshakeable Betty Brant. Then it suddenly dawned on him, and he snorted.

“So how’s Flash?” Betty glared at him, but she turned her desk chair to talk.

“Eugene is coming to visit for the holidays. He told me this morning.” Peter sipped at the iced coffee, the flavor of toffee-nut making him sigh in relief.

“I don’t see how this is a problem, considering the two of you have been pining over each other since we were what, fifteen?” Betty was silent, and Peter looked closely at her. “Betty, what’s up?”

“We hadn’t really talked much, before today, since May. Other than just general stuff, like how are you, how’s work, you know.” Peter winced, remembering the argument that led to Betty calling out for two days. Betty hadn’t even called out during the last hurricane the city had experienced, so to say it had been bad was an understatement.

“So what, he just invited himself over?” Betty shrugged.

“Not in so many words. He said he was coming home and asked if I’d be willing to see him, and I said yes. I offered him a place to stay, so, I guess technically he invited himself back to the East coast, and I invited him to my apartment.” The ‘so he wouldn’t have to stay at home’ went unspoken between the two of them. “Anyway, what did Jameson want?” Peter knew an attempt to change the conversation when he saw one. He knew a lot of people would say it was good to talk about feelings, but he certainly wasn’t going to push when he bottled up his own shit.

“He wants me to take photos at the Spiderman thing this weekend,” he explained, turning on his own laptop. Now that he had some caffeine in his system, he was starting to realize that pulling this off was going to need some planning. If only he needed to be photographed, Miles or Gwen could have worn Peter’s for some photo-ops. But Miles and Gwen would both be at this ceremony wearing their suits, which certainly complicated things.

Betty’s eyes widened, and she smiled at her friend. “Peter, that’s great! I mean, I’m not surprised, your photos are great, no matter what Jameson says. This could lead to a full-time job after graduation,” she said, nudging him with her elbow.

“Betty, if I’m still here once I graduate, Jameson is going to end up eating me like a fly trapped in a spider’s web,” he said, voice completely deadpan. Betty laughed, turning back to her work. Peter had a feeling that if she knew about the whole secret identity thing, she would have responded more like MJ did when he made spider jokes. Speaking of that-

Peter unlocked his phone, pulling up his messages with MJ. Gwen had convinced her to go abroad with her that summer, and their last texts before the article she sent him today had been his freaking out about picking classes for that semester. He sent her a quick text to say he missed her before setting his phone on do not disturb. As much as his job could suck, it would really be awful to get fired for texting, considering Jameson would absolutely relish the chance to get rid of him.

* * *

It was as Peter was waiting in line for a hot dog that his phone started buzzing. He pulled it out of his pocket, surprised to see MJ’s contact photo lighting up his home screen. MJ hated the photo, but it had been from Halloween their senior year in high school, with her scowling dressed as a black widow. Not the Black Widow, but as the literal spider. She had loved the costume, but had been photobombed by Ned throwing up jungle juice next to her. Not his best moment.

Peter scrambled to take the call, almost dropping his iced coffee in excitement. Hey, it had been a while since MJ had been able to call, so fight him.

“Hey! MJ, what’s up? I missed you!” Peter knew he sounded overexcited, but he couldn’t help it. The guy behind him made a face, but for once his awkwardness didn’t matter.

“Hi weirdo,” MJ replied, and he moved forward in line, trying to pull some change out of his pockets. He could tell MJ was rolling her eyes with that little smirk she hid behind her hands, which made his face break into a grin.

“How’s Paris? You tired of beautiful monuments and history yet?” MJ laughed at that, a little peal of laughter that he could hear over the tourists in both of their respective cities.

“Oh, y’know, it’s not too bad. Not as wild as the trip we took in high school.”

“Lack of a murderous super-villain will do that,” Peter said, smirking as it was his turn to order. Thankfully, it was the usual woman working the stand, Sophie, and she quickly put his order together. He hated to be that person, talking on the phone like service workers didn’t matter, but he really missed his friend. He stuffed a five into the tip jar after handing her the money, ignoring the frown on Sophie’s face. Yeah, he was broke, but he wasn’t a jerk.

“Not too wild, but not as interesting. It would be nice to have you and Ned here too, I guess,” MJ admitted, though Peter knew that his friend was having fun. The photos she posted of her and Gwen on her Instagram said it all.

“Is that your way of saying you miss me?” Peter couldn’t help the way his chest felt a little tight as he asked. The feelings he was having towards MJ weren’t new, he’d been experiencing them for the past few months, but it could still surprise him.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Maybe Gwen and I just need someone to take good photos,” she teased. Peter took the hot dog that Sophie handed him, and started walking to his favorite bench in the park.

“I see how it is. Anyway, not that I’m not excited to hear from you, but isn’t it getting kind of late over there?” It was three here, so probably about nine in Paris, if his math was right.

“Not too late, Gwen and I are getting drinks before dinner, old man,” MJ said, a smile in her voice. “I wanted to congratulate you and Miles on your new holiday, since Gwen is celebrating with a bottle of wine that’s one hundred euros.” Peter groaned. Great.

“Don’t act like you didn’t really call to make fun of me,” he said, taking a bite of his lunch.

“Who, me? I mean, you’re not wrong, I think this is hilarious. But genuinely, how are you feeling about it?” Sometimes Peter forgot how well MJ could read him. Sure, they had been friends for years at this point, and she had guessed on their trip to Europe that he was Spiderman. But she always was able to put into words the things he didn’t want to admit to himself.

Especially things that would bring up discussions over his extreme lack of self-worth.

“I mean, it’s no surprise I’m not happy about it. I mean, it’s not like all of you guys have made a huge deal of it. Johnny was his usual self, obviously, but he was...reserved, for Johnny, anyway. But I know it’s not going to stay like that. Even though no one is going to know it’s us under those masks, it’s going to be a lot of attention for the three of us, as if we don’t get enough of that already. It’s just going to get really overwhelming, really fast.”

“You haven’t talked to Stark then, I presume, if it hasn’t gotten overwhelming yet.” Peter sighed, finishing his lunch and scrunching the trash into a ball.

“No, I haven’t. He’s going to be giddy over winning the competition this year.”

“He’s never won against May, I don’t see that changing. Ceremony that makes you cringe or not, she’s the reigning champ.” Shit. “Excuse me?”

“Crap. Did I say that out loud?” He knew without seeing her that MJ was smirking.

“Better make sure that Rogers isn’t around, or you’ll have to put another dollar in the jar.”

“That isn’t true, and you know it, Tony just put it there to bother Steve.”

“Mhm, and then he made Stark put a dollar in the jar just for kicks when he was swearing out Colonel Rhodes during paintball?”

“That was a lover’s quarrel,” Peter suggested.

“Can you sound less like an octogenarian? Anyway, what’s wrong? Another screaming voicemail from Jameson?” Peter scoffed, checking his voicemails just in case. MJ’s guess was certainly believable, considering it had happened more than once before.

“More like I just remembered May moved our weekly dinner this week to tonight, instead of Friday. Which means she definitely is going to have heard about this by then and I definitely won’t hear about anything other than that.”

“Ah, well, I suppose you’ll just have to put out the fire while you’re in the hot seat, I guess. Tell May I miss her!”

“Thanks for the support, MJ, try not to choke on your own vomit tonight,” Peter scoffed, hanging up the call before throwing out his garbage. If he was going to be with May tonight, he wanted to pick up some wine for their dinner. It wouldn’t be one hundred euros, but May wasn’t a big drinker, so he figured she wouldn’t care. His phone started to buzz as he left to go back to work, cringing when he saw Jameson’s number come up. Maybe it would be better to get the wine now.

* * *

“Oh Mayyyyyy,” Peter called, knocking at the open window of what used to be his old room. He slid in, sliding his shoes off onto the little tray underneath the window. May could say as much as she wanted about him using the front door, her leaving the window open said she felt differently.

He balanced his work stuff and the bottle of wine in his hands, taking special care not to drop anything and cause a spill on any of the wood on May’s work table. He leaned over, looking at her newest piece, a large slab of wood that she had started to burn to get what looked like a rough image of one of their family photos. Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he shot his hand up, catching a banana.

“Damn. Wish that still worked,” May muttered, stalking into the room and quickly covering the wood with a piece of fabric. “Forget everything you saw, Spiderman. This is your birthday gift,” she frowned, but there was an amused tilt to her eyebrows.

“Not my fault you left it out in the open,” Peter snarked, pulling May into a hug and letting out a little sigh when her arms wrapped around him. May smelled the same, the same mix of antiseptic from the hospital, burnt wood, and that lily perfume Ben had always loved.

“Not my fault you climb into my studio like a robber, Pete,” she responded, kissing the top of his head. “Is this for me?” She nodded towards the bottle of wine he had put on the work table, a smirk on her face. “While I appreciate the gesture, I made us breakfast for dinner tonight.” Well, shit.

“It is technically grape juice, and grapes are a fruit that you serve at breakfast, so,” Peter mused, following her into the kitchen.

It was always weird being back in the old apartment, even though he came over almost weekly for their dinners. (Not that Peter didn’t want May to come over to his apartment, but a room full of superheroes was...a lot, especially when it came to his, Gwen, and Miles’s appetites.) He was no longer surprised by the changes, but it was nice to see his aunt so happy. Honestly, he had worried that with him leaving, it would feel like a betrayal. After all, after Ben died, they had only had each other. He hadn’t wanted May stuck in some sort of time capsule.

Instead, more photos covered the walls: photos of him and his friends goofing off, a snapshot he had taken from last New Year’s Eve, when May and Pepper got stuck under the mistletoe. Candids of him and Tony working in the workshop, and his and MJ’s prom photo, plus a copy of it which had been photobombed by Ned, Betty, and Flash.

May had changed the paint last month, and he could still detect hints of fresh paint smell. Plants lined the free corners of the apartment, and the old corner of the living room where Peter had done work in high school was filled by a large, white birdcage. An empty birdcage.

“Where’s Colby?”

“Helping me cook, obviously,” May responded, her voice coming from their small kitchen. Peter groaned, walking into the room and seeing his aunt’s large, gray rescue bird sitting proudly on the box of Bisquick.

“You know he doesn’t like me, he’s going to peck me all of dinner,” Peter moaned, setting the table as Colby glared at him from across the room. Could birds glare? He made a mental note to google that later.

“In his defense, Peter, birds tend to eat spiders,” May shrugged, flipping a large peanut butter pancake. “You’re just in touch with your instincts, aren’t you my love?” She leaned over, and let her demon bird nibble at her fingers. “Anyway, he wanted to congratulate you on your new honor.” Peter froze, damning Tony Stark and the fellow nurses in the ER who no doubt had been gossiping all day about this. He had wanted to at least be the one to break the news.

“What honor?” May came over with two full plates of breakfast food, putting both in Peter’s spot. She rolled her eyes, going back to the oven to pull out some apple muffins. May wasn’t much of a cook normally, but when it came to breakfast, she was the reigning champ.

“Pete, it was all over social media. Plus, Tony talked to me about it before he went and made it official.” She came back to the table with the tray of muffins and her own plate, but not before giving Colby a bird treat.

“You knew about this? And you didn’t stop it?” Peter couldn’t help the somewhat shrill, betrayed tone to his voice. Who knew both of the adults in his life would conspire against him? May tried to cover her laugh, but she was unsuccessful, and Peter rose an eyebrow at her.

“Listen, originally I wasn’t for it, but you, Miles, and Gwen do so much. It would be good for you three to have a day for yourselves. Maybe the Bugle would stop publishing such awful stuff about the three of you.”

“Hey, I work hard to get that awful stuff published, thank you very much. It pays the bills,” Peter argued, taking a large bite of one of the dozen and a half pancakes May had put on his plate. “And I know damn well that there has to be another reason you let Tony do this.” May rose her eyebrows at his language, but clearly felt it wasn’t worth arguing about, considering she had doomed him to this awful day.

“If it made Tony think he was going to win, then why not let him fall into his own trap,” May mused, shrugging at him. Oh, not this again. It was like MJ had said-May would never let Tony win. They had had this...competition, of sorts, every year on his birthday since he had turned seventeen. Each year, they tried to get Peter the better gift. There was no prize, except for gloating rights. And despite Tony’s efforts, each year May had won without fail.

“Maybe just for this, I’ll give him a heads-up about the art I saw in your studio,” Peter joked, but one look from May and he was quiet. “I’m not sure why you went along with it though, competition notwithstanding. It means we won’t be able to have my normal birthday dinner.” Birthday dinners were a tradition in the Parker household, and after Ben’s death, they were even more important. Over the years, Ned, then MJ, next Tony, then Miles, Johnny, and Gwen, were invited over and joined the tradition. Even though they had dinners together as a whole group more than once a year, part of him felt a bit hollow at the idea of breaking their tradition.

“This honor ceremony thing Tony organized won’t be all day, baby. We still have the whole night to spend with everyone. Plus, it gives the team a good excuse to leave before giving too many “mandatory” statements,” May said, putting up air quotations. Then her eyes narrowed. “How exactly are you going to be there taking photos as Peter Parker while you get honored as Spiderman?” Just great. Today just kept getting worse and worse. Peter wished he had let that slime monster from two years back crush him when it had the chance, because he wouldn’t be sitting here answering these questions. Or have had to take that dance class that semester. “Peter…”

“Uh, let’s just say that that whole situation is a work in progress. That will be solved! Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control.” He winced at his (admittedly) weak attempt at trying to act like he had everything figured out.

“I worry because I larb you,” May sighed, reaching over and patting his hand. “And because of that, I don’t want you over-extending yourself again, Pete. Remember how bad it got last year? You don’t-” Peter pulled his hand back, the familiar feeling of tight rope knotting against his rib cage. Ah, anxiety.

“Let’s not, thanks,” Peter said quietly, his appetite completely gone. Colby squawked, the sharp sting to his over-enhanced ears adding a particular screw-you, Parker! to an already shitty moment. He didn’t look up at May, knowing her eyes would be sad, choosing instead to get up and grab some wine glasses. Hey, he wasn’t eating breakfast anymore, so sue him for breaking open the seven dollar bottle, alright?

He filled the class and came back over, not even paying attention to Colby’s over-exaggerated attempt to bite his elbow. May quickly tried to apologize, but he just shrugged, asking instead what her day had been like. Thankfully, May appeased him and started rambling about Jackie and Denise and the mayhem that was working in the ER. Pretty soon, he was able to forget the awkward tension, and making May sad, and even this joke of a day of honor.

But the plate of food sat on the table the entire time he was there, even after he and May did the dishes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 Warnings: Mentions of Peter getting hurt before the chapter starts, bombs/explosions, blood, neck wounds, Peter sees someone die from getting bitten on the throat

Sleeping was great. Sleep was amazing, beautiful, wonderful, dare he even say, sexy? 

It would be nice if Peter’s roommates actually let him _sleep_. 

He woke up to Ned playing Animal Crossing. In his room. Across from Peter at the end of his bed. With the sound turned up. _All_ the way up. 

Ned stared intently at the screen, either not noticing or ignoring the death rays Peter was trying to shoot from his eyes. He had had the worst few days of patrol in a while since he had seen May, and Jameson was continuing his audition for “Boss So Awful, It’s Actually a Hallmark Movie.” He had barely had time to eat, let alone sleep. Thankfully, today was his day off, and he had wanted to sleep in so badly that he was close to crying.

“Ned.” His friend made a noise to show that he was listening. “Is there any reason you’re blasting that in my room in particular?” 

“Your room is the warmest, dude. Also, I missed you, so.” Peter rolled his eyes, but Ned, to his credit, lowered the volume. Deciding that he had no chance of getting Ned to leave, he wrapped the blankets tighter around himself and tried to doze while Ned continued to play. Quickly, though, he realized that now that he had been taken out of the beautiful cocoon of sleep, he was wide awake. 

“I missed you too,” he muttered, knowing that Ned was no doubt smiling about that. “Sorry about going AWOL, there. Jameson has been up my ass.” 

“When isn’t he?” Ned quipped, passing the switch to Peter so he could look at his village. “Thoughts on the color scheme?” 

“Good point. He was so pissed about some of the photos from the past few days being blurry, even though he got some good ones out of it regardless! Like sorry, I’m trying not to get stabbed by some radioactive chickens, thanks! Also, too much red and blue.” 

“I gotta rep my best friend, so I’m going to ignore your bad taste and instead focus on what you just said, Peter. Stabbed. By a chicken?!” Peter peeked his head out of the blanket to look at Ned, who was staring at him incredulously. 

“Yeah. They had arms grafted onto them, dude. Very not cool,” he shuddered, giving the console back to his best friend. “Jameson was all mad I didn’t have a clear shot of the things, but if I was a civilian, no way in hell I’d go near one of those things!” 

“Says the person who sacrifices himself for the wellbeing of others weekly,” Ned muttered under his breath. Peter chose to ignore the comment, continuing on his rant. 

“And now it’s a shitshow, because he wants to get an interview from Oscorp, since the theory he heard from Eddie is that they’ve been testing on animals, but obviously Oscorp doesn’t want to get involved at all, even if they aren’t responsible. After what happened last year, they aren’t looking for any chance at all to get their name dragged in the mud,” Peter said, pushing nausea back when he skirted around his least favorite topic. “So he’s been ever pissier than normal, as if that was possible.” Ned patted his ankle, giving him a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry he’s being the worst, dude. We should go get bagels. It might cheer you up after the week you’ve had,” he suggested, and Peter wanted to thank the heavens for his best friend. No awkward attempts to make him talk, even though Ned was fully aware of why exactly this was bothering him. Just caring and warmth and a way to get his mind off how shit things were. 

“Alright, but I’m blaming you when I get mad at myself for spending money later,” Peter warned, nudging Ned off the bed with his foot. “I can show you the chicken photos while we wait in line if you want.” Ned let out a whoop and went to go throw on shoes, while Peter couldn’t help but smile as he threw on his favorite old pair of sneakers. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

* * *

He was wrong, it was bad. 

They had been waiting in line for their bagels when his phone started blowing up with calls from Happy, who was asking where the hell he was. Apparently, in his zombie-like state yesterday, he had forgotten he had agreed to meet with Tony to talk about those chickens. Which meant he had kept Happy waiting for twenty minutes outside of his apartment while he and Ned had been talking about Star Wars on their way to get breakfast.

A pissed off Happy was never a good thing. To make matters worse, Ned outright refused to let Peter go without him, which meant his friend was now on the way to the Compound with him. Normally, Peter loved having Ned come along, but he knew that his friend was not going to be pleased with him once he found out about the chicken bite thing.

An angry Tony _and_ an angry Ned? Yeah, not great.

So, the chicken had taken a bite out of him on the back of his neck! No big deal, it was healing no problem considering how deep it had been. Part of the reason why he hadn’t slept for very long was because he had spent hours cleaning and disinfecting it. Sure, with the absolute mess these chickens were, he could understand the anxiety about any possible radiation, but his metabolism burned off basically everything. A little chicken spit was nothing. 

It still didn’t help the wave of apprehension he felt when Happy finally pulled up to the Compound, the angry look on his face somewhat mollified from the bagel Ned had insisted they buy for him. 

“Been a while since I’ve been here,” Ned said offhand, looking curiously at some of the newer interns and staff members he saw walking around. Peter thought back in his head, realizing the last time they had been there together had been around the end of finals last semester. Tony had invited the two of them over to break old parts in the workshop to blow off some steam. There had been a time that Ned was coming over weekly with him. 

“Sorry, it’s just been-” Peter started to apologize, feeling a wave of guilt over taking this from Ned. He knew Ned loved working in the shop, it was such a dick move to take that from him. 

“You’re fine Pete, don’t worry about it,” Ned grinned. “I know you’ve been running around like-well, a chicken with its head off, it’s not a big deal. F.R.I.D.A.Y. makes sure to send me all the video clips of you getting your ass beat in training.” He laughed at the expression on Peter’s face, and led them both to the elevator that would take them to Tony. 

“Still, I feel bad. This used to be one of our things, and I don’t know. I didn’t mean to change that,” Peter explained, the elevator dropping them faster below ground than a standard machine. 

“Peter, I really do get it. I’m not going to lie, I missed getting to do this with you, but it’s nice to just see you happy again. I do wish you weren’t so stressed, but I get it, man,” Ned responded, nudging his friend with his elbow. “If anything, I wish you’d at least make the time to come here weekly, instead of biweekly, but considering Jameson is an ass, I understand.” 

Part of Peter couldn’t help but agree. He did miss the weekly time he spent with Tony, the lab nights he had with him before his stupid brain got in the way. As much as he wanted to stay busy though, he knew it would be self-sabotage to try and fit in weekly Compound trips when he was just edging on exhaustion with his work/eating/sleeping schedule. He was about to express that he was okay despite how packed his schedule was, when the elevator stopped and the doors opened to the outside of Tony’s workshop. Time to face the music. 

Peter went up to the keypad, typing in his birthday and Tony and Rhodey’s anniversary to be let in. The doors silently opened, and the blasting sounds of Nirvana filled the hallway. Peter and Ned walked in, setting their stuff down at their workshop tables, and went to find Tony, who appeared to be bickering with Pepper over the phone.

“I really could give a shit what the Board thinks, Pepper. Unless they want to offer up name suggestions, they can shove their opinions up their asses,” he spat out, using a fire extinguisher to blast the remainders of a flaming piece of metal. Peter could just hear Pepper’s growl over the phone, and he decided to step in before the conversation escalated and went on for the entirety of the visit. 

“Two dollars in the swear jar, I’d wager, huh Ned?” Peter asked, looking at Tony with his eyebrows raised. Tony spun around, a grin growing on his face when he saw Peter. He muttered a quick goodbye to Pepper (who was _not_ pleased at being blown off) and hung up, striding forward to give him a fist bump. 

“Don’t have to, as long as you and Ted here keep it quiet from Captain Spangles,” he joked, ignoring Ned’s eye roll. 

“Tony, you literally have me on speed dial, I know you know my name.” Peter looked between the two of them curiously, and Tony explained.

“We talk to make sure that you’re not getting stuck in some time portal or getting hit by a flyswatter. Or attacked by radioactive chickens,” he said, his expression growing more annoyed when he brought up Peter’s most recent enemy. “So tell me, Peter, why did I have to force Karen last night to tell me what happened to you on patrol? That bite on the neck, that ringing any bells?” Ned turned to Peter, a pissed off look in his eyes. 

“Because it was fine, I took care of it,” Peter said, shrugging and pulling the bandaid off the back of his neck. “See? It’s probably scarring right now, no big deal.” He felt Tony move closer, looking at the back of his neck.

“Can I?” Peter nodded, and he felt Tony’s hands prod the healing spot on his neck. It didn’t feel odd or hurt more than any other kind of healing injury, so he stayed quiet and let Tony complete his helicopter routine. After a few seconds, he pulled back, and Peter turned around. 

“See? Nothing’s wrong.” Ned scoffed, and Peter just _knew_ that his day was going to get worse. 

“Nothing looks wrong, but you don’t know if that thing had anything funky in its spit. It literally had arms grafted on it, Pete. You should get it checked out.” 

“I couldn’t agree more, Ted. You’re going to be paying a little visit to Helen and getting some blood drawn, kiddo,” Tony smirked, and Peter narrowed his eyes. 

“She’s already here, isn’t she?” Though Helen was the physician for the team, she had her own residence outside of the state and was running her own practice. It usually took an hour or so to fly her in, but knowing Tony, he had probably called her last night and brought her here right around the time he was unknowingly blowing off Happy. 

“Of course, Spiderman. Ted, you coming with us down to Med-Bay?” Ned looked at Peter, the frustration in his eyes disappearing as he looked at his friend. In the past year, Peter had gotten used to having Ned or MJ come with him to his appointments, but he knew he was using their presence as a safety blanket. He needed to deal with this on his own. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry Ned,” Peter said, trying his best to smile at him. Ned clearly didn’t buy it, but shrugged. 

“I’ll be here if you change your mind. Tony, do you still have that project I was working on?” 

“In the cupboard under your work table, of course. I’m no monster. We’ll be back in a half-hour, tops!” Peter and Tony left, with Peter looking wistfully back at his own work table while Tony led him away to get his blood drawn. 

It was only in the elevator back upstairs (and really, Tony should have just told him to go straight to Med-Bay, though honestly, he probably would have ignored the order) that Tony repeated his question.

“So kid. You didn’t explain to me why Karen was prevented from telling me you got hurt. Any reason why that is?” Peter didn’t look at him, crossing his arms as an unconscious defense.

“How did you know to ask her?” Peter asked, trying to delay the conversation.

“I read your vitals. You lost some blood, so I asked her about it. She said you told her not to say anything?” Peter stared at the wall with a _lot_ of forced interest. 

“So I reminded her about her protocols, aka, that my requests override yours, and then she was more than pleased to tell me exactly what happened to make those vitals go whack-a-mole. I figured you messed with her programming. Again. So out with it kid, why’d you order her not to tell me?” Peter sighed, and just looked ahead.

“I don’t need the Training Wheel Protocols again. I’m ready for them to be turned off.”

“Clearly not, if you keep injuries from me. You said last night on the phone that you were fine, and clearly, that was a lie.” 

“I mean, my neck is healed, basically, so it wasn’t technically a lie. Just...an omission of truth, I guess.” 

“You’re sounding too much like me, Pete. It’s not a good look on you,” Tony mused, and Peter couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt over that. Tony, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice and continued on. Thank God. If he had to have a feelings talk right now, he would stop the elevator himself and climb up the cables. 

“Kid, after last year, you, your aunt, and me all decided that _temporarily_ ,” he stressed, looking at Peter, “putting some elements of the Training Wheels Protocols back on again would be the best move for your safety. It’s not meant to be a forever thing.” 

“I just don’t want you guys worrying about every little thing. I get injured, it’s kind of part of the job. You literally punctured your lung during that fight in July.” Tony shuddered, but knowing him, Peter figured it was over the way Steve’s fireworks display had been ruined, rather than his injury. 

“We’re your adults, kid. We can’t help but worry. We worry even when we don’t have to worry. It’s just part of the job. The protocols prevent me from going real helicopter on you, Spider-Baby.” 

“Gwen and Miles don’t have protocols like this,” Peter muttered. He knew he sounded childish, and that it was doing more to harm than help his case, but he was frustrated. “I’m turning twenty-one next week, I’ve been doing this longer than both of them.” 

“If it makes you feel better, Pete, Harley and Riri put Training Wheels Protocols in their suits too, until they proved they could be trusted without them.” Hm. That didn’t exactly make him feel better, but it was interesting. “And, Miles and Gwen have never pretended that they don’t get injured.” Well, Gwen tried that one time, but Riri was not pleased, to put it lightly. And Gwen still thought Riri didn’t like her back. “If you thought it was time to turn off the protocols, you should have just talked to me. And then still told me about getting attacked by that thing, because Ted is right. There could be some weird radioactive chicken fever in you now. But you hid it.” Tony was doing nothing but being honest, but it still stung. 

“Be honest, Tony, do you really think you would have ever been okay with lifting those protocols?” By that point, they had reached the Med-Bay, but they were standing in the elevator, the doors still closed. Thank god for F.R.I.D.A.Y. for keeping the conversation private. 

“Probably not, because again, I worry about you. But you are an adult, Pete, even though you still look like a middle-schooler,” he teased. “So yes, after we talked about it-”

“And Rhodey convinced you,” Peter said pointedly, and Tony rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, after I listened to my beautiful, amazing, wonderful husband, thanks for interrupting so I could gush about him, you brat,” he said fondly, “I would have lifted them. Peter, I just want you safe, but more importantly, I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide this shit. I don’t want you to end up like I did.” Peter hated when Tony said stuff like that. He knew Tony just didn’t want him to make the mistakes he had made, but it felt like Tony was saying he didn’t want him to be anything like him. Like he wasn’t good enough. 

“Dollar in the swear jar,” he said, annoyed to find that his throat felt a little thick and his eyes a bit watery. 

“Just don’t tell Steve. Now come on, let’s go get your blood leeched.” 

* * *

Turning twenty-one didn’t really feel any different, at least to Peter. Maybe it would have, if he didn’t have that stupid Spider-Team ceremony looming in the back of his head, but unfortunately, he was getting dressed in his normal work clothes, tightening his tie.

“It’ll work,” he murmured, looking at himself in the mirror and trying to tame his hair.

“Peter, how the hell do you not get this stuck up your ass every time you swing?” Johnny yelled, coming into his room (without knocking, but that wasn’t surprising) with the suit on. He was holding the mask in his hand, a pissy look on his face. “Look, I know I offered and all to wear this bad boy, but it’s cutting off circulation to-” Peter shoved a hand over his mouth, not wanting to hear the rest of his sentence. It was bad enough knowing he’d have to deep clean his suit afterward.

“Johnny, I get that you’re doing me a favor right now, but I can and will web you to the wall,” Peter warned, pulling his hand back in disgust when his friend licked his palm. “You are so nasty, why the hell are we friends?”

“Because it was the fastest way for Ned to fall in love with me, Spider boy,” Johnny shrugged. Peter rolled his eyes, grabbed his camera bag, and shoved his shoes on. 

“Better actually make a move this century, or he’ll actually start being interested in that hot coworker of his. The dude with the long hair who always brings him lattes, Jordan? Do _you_ bring him lattes, Johnny?” Johnny started to cuss him out, but he teased Johnny about his obviously returned crush far too often for it to be entertaining. 

He left his room, looking through Miles’s open door to see him drawing at his desk. His suit was still laid out on his bed, and he was humming under his breath. Peter checked his watch-still early, thankfully-and knocked on the sticker-covered door. 

“Dude, we still have time, but you should pack your bag so you’re not scrambling around last minute,” Peter noted, coming in and looking at what his friend was working on. Miles was drawing out his newest sticker design, a vibrant spider spinning his name. “You should put ‘is Spiderman’ underneath it, I think.” Miles threw up a middle finger, but turned his music off, spinning in his chair to smirk at his friend. 

“There’s no need to worry about my stickers when you literally get selfies mid-air and then explain them away as being BFFs with your alter-ego, Pete,” Miles scoffed, putting a leg up and tying his shoes. “And as a matter of fact, my bag is packed. The suit just needs to go on top.” 

“Mhm, sure. I’ve heard enough horror stories from your mom about getting you ready for high school, Miles, I’m not risking it.” 

“Chill, Peter, no need to go Mother Hen on me. It’ll be fine, you’re worrying too much. Johnny will play Spiderman _wonderfully_ ,” he said, spinning back around and packing up his markers. Peter rolled his eyes, but he knew he had a point. 

Over the past week of scheming between the four of them in the apartment and MJ and Gwen over StarkTime, they had decided the best way for Peter to be in two places at once was for Johnny to play Spiderman. Like Johnny had said, he had volunteered as soon as they had decided that neither he, Ned, or MJ would be able to take the kind of photos that would spare Peter from getting his ass handed to him by Jameson. (Truth be told, Peter had a feeling that Johnny had been looking for an excuse to wear the suit for a while, though he was definitely regretting it now.) They had similar enough voices to pass Johnny off as the real Spiderman, and Peter had made Tony promise that filling his superhero duties wouldn’t take too long. Hopefully Tony hadn’t caught on to why exactly Peter was asking, because he knew his mentor would not be pleased by his spreading himself thin yet again for the Bugle. 

Johnny really just needed to show up, say a few words, wait while Gwen and Miles talked, and then go backstage to “sling” away. Meanwhile, Peter would be filling his duties and taking photos for Jameson, and possibly get a few selfies of him and the Spider-Team to prove to Jameson that the close-up photos he had taken over the months were possible. 

He was about to make a snarky remark about the Mother-Hen comment, regardless of its truth, when MJ’s text ringtone went off on his phone. Without even thinking, his hand went to his pocket to pull it out, and his heart sped up. He ignored Miles cackling at him and opened his phone to see her message.

_mj <3: hey losers, gwen just got picked up so im on the way. _

_mj <3: meet up at E 86? _

_guy in the chair: sounds good!!_

He shot her a quick text back, agreeing to meet there while Miles and Johnny waited for Happy, and shoved his phone back in his pocket. 

“So when are you actually going to make a move?” Miles asked, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Peter rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten the slightest bit. Even though his tone was teasing, the look in Miles’s eyes was serious.

“I’m moving out of your room, to the subway, so that I can get to this thing on time so I don’t lose my job, actually! Would love if you could do the same,” Peter snarked, leaving his friend’s room to grab his keys. 

“You and Johnny are pathetic!” Miles yelled, but Peter could hear him get up and grab his suit, and Johnny protesting at his words. The two of them started to bicker about Ned, and Peter snuck out the door before they noticed him leave. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to know about MJ. Even if that was the case, Peter was more than aware that he wore his heart on his sleeve. He was obvious, to basically everyone else _except_ her. But it was one thing for them to know, and tease him about it, and another thing to ask him if he was going to do anything about it. He was too busy right now, with work and Spiderman, and soon school would be coming up. Too much, too soon. _Too soon after-_ his traitorous mind started to whisper, but he pushed it back and focused instead on texting the group chat that he was leaving for the station now. 

It was a quick walk to the subway, the warm thick air and the sounds of life around him distracting him from the thoughts in his head. He was fine, and going to do his job. Everything would be okay, and they would pull this off, and then the entire team would go to the apartment and get Thai. This would be fine. 

His phone buzzed several times by the time he actually got on the subway, standing in the crowded train with his headphones in. A baby, sitting in their mother’s lap looked up from across him, wide brown eyes and babbling making him smile. Their mother looked up at him, a smile on her own face. There was something familiar about her, something he couldn’t quite place.

“Are you one of the photographers for the ceremony?” Peter was surprised at the question, considering most people on the train tried their hardest to ignore even looking at each other. Then he noticed the map in the diaper bag, and figured the woman and her baby were tourists. 

“Yes ma’am, for the Bugle,” he explained. “I’m taking it you two are going too?” The woman turned her baby around, gesturing to the Spiderman onesie the baby was wearing.

“Naturally. We came from Boston to see this! You know, last time I was in the city, Spiderman saved me. I was pregnant with Ben at the time,” she explained, kissing her baby’s head. “I felt like I had to come, y’know? Especially because he’s the one who picked the little munchkin’s name,” she laughed. Peter realized all of a sudden who the woman was, and the memory of her begging him to tell her his real name. He looked at Ben again, and couldn’t help but note how big he was.

“How old is he, what, a year and a half?” That was about how long it was since he had saved his mother, he believed. 

“Seventeen months, good guess,” she responded, looking a bit surprised. “Do you have any children?” Good job Parker, try to look weirder. 

“Oh no, not yet. I’m just good at ages,” he tried to explain. “I hope the two of you have a good time at the ceremony today,” he added on. The woman nodded, and pulled out her phone, conversation clearly over. God, could he be any more awkward? Thank god none of his friends had been around, they would have teased him for the rest of the ride. He turned up the music on his phone higher, waiting for his stop. 

The longer the ride went on, the more people joined the carriage, a lot of them sporting Spiderman merch. The number of people sporting hoodies in Gwen’s uniform colors was no doubt going to please the shit out of her and put that smug look on her face that Riri thought was cute. 

The group chat continued to go off, with his friends sending memes as they all got ready. Gwen sent a picture of her and Happy, who she had somehow managed to convince to let her sit in the front of the car. Thank god for the blackout windows in the car, because she was already in her uniform. 

_mj <3: _im a gwen stan first and a woman second 

_flamebrain:_ gwen i would go straight for u

 _guy in the chair:_ ^^ 

_guy in the chair:_ pete mj and i are waiting for u and picked u up a coffee 

_flamebrain_ : ned what’s ur fav latte

 _flamebrain:_ no reason

 _flamebrain:_ haha

 _my name is:_ ur pathetic

Peter huffed under his breath, knowing that when he met up with Ned and MJ, his best friend was going to be completely oblivious to Johnny’s real reason behind the questions. No doubt he and MJ were going to share a look, the one they usually shared when one of their friends was being a dumbass. The first time they shared that look in person all summer. Peter felt his hands sweat, and rubbed them against his thighs, trying to dry them off. If he sweated through his shirt, he was going to be pissed; he had only two good work shirts and Johnny had destroyed the washing machine in the basement. 

Finally, his stop came, and he left quickly, trying his best to get through the crowds of people going to get spots to watch the ceremony. He headed towards the coffee spot they usually went to when they were near the park, quickly spotting Ned and MJ outside, holding the coffees in a small tray. MJ noticed him first, turning and giving him a small half smile. Ned looked over, and called out, holding his coffee up.

“Pete! Guess what?!” MJ rolled her eyes, but she had that pleased look on her face that appeared whenever they were all hanging out. Peter jogged the rest of the way over, fist-bumping Ned and grabbing the coffee. 

“I guess that you bought me an amazing coffee?” MJ snorted. 

“This is why you always lose at Clue, you know,” she said, looking him in the eyes and effectively knocking the breath out of him. She had more freckles under her eyes and dusting her nose, slightly darker from the sun. Her hair was up in two puffs, and she was wearing the necklace Peter had gotten her when they were teenagers. “What, no ‘I missed you’?” 

“You know I did,” Peter muttered, giving her a light hug. He ignored Ned’s judging eyes and let her go, trying his best to give her a “normal, totally not having feelings for you” smile. “How is it, being home?” 

“Kind of a bummer we had to cut the trip short for this, but I sort of missed you all,” she said, voice deadpan and taking a sip of her hot coffee. Hot coffee in August, ugh. “I got you guys all something, but yours also counts as your birthday gift, Peter, so don’t get your hopes up. Now,” she said, as the group of them started towards the Met, “how did you all last without Gwen and I? I know very well that the two of us hold the brain cells in this friend group.” Peter let out a noise of disgust, but Ned was the one to argue.

“First off, not true in any sense of the word. Gwen at most has one brain cell, you have the rest. And two, we were perfectly fine, thank you very much. Peter only shaved his head once, and Miles was able to get his paint out of the carpet.” MJ turned to look at Peter, her gaze intense.

“You shaved your head?” Peter shrugged, running his hands through his hair. 

“It was just to see how long it would take for it all to grow back. Ned’s idea, seriously. Also, what were you so excited about when I got here?” Ned’s eyes grew wide, clearly pleased by the question.

“So! I know that you all know about cute work boy, Jordan,” he explained, gesturing to his work shirt. “So today, he came into work without a coffee for me, and I was kind of miffed, because I thought we definitely had something going there, y’know?” MJ and Peter nodded, motioning for him to keep going. “So I was like Jordan, no coffee for me today? And he goes sorry, I figured it would be better if we got coffee together. I could pick you up this weekend! Isn’t that great?” Peter and MJ were quiet, which was clearly not what Ned was looking for. “Guys, seriously? This is really nice, we’ve been talking for a while and he’s really cool.” 

“It’s not that, Ned,” Peter started slowly. “I just figured, with, y’know, Johnny, that you wouldn’t want to go on a coffee date with anyone else.” The tips of Ned’s ears went red at that.

“That’s over and done with. Seriously, it is,” he tried, seeing the looks on his friends’ faces. “Okay, it’s not. But it’s not like he’d ever feel the same, so why not go out with someone who _does_ like me? I mean, he is cute, so.” Ned rambled on, continuing to justify why Jordan was apparently worth seeing even with the whole unrequited love business he had going on, causing MJ and Peter to share The Look. 

“I really think you should maybe wait, Ned. You don’t know, Johnny might just be unsure of how to tell you how he feels,” Peter tried, but Ned scoffed.

“Mhm, sure. The guy who literally everyone wants and could charm the pants off said everyone? We’re talking about the same Johnny, right? Listen, it’s not a big deal, okay? I’ll be fine,” he said, shrugging. 

“Alright, fine, Leeds. Just know that whoever you go out with, you’re too good for them,” MJ smirked, nudging his shoulder. They were close to the Met, the crowds of people loud and excited. 

“Very good point,” Peter added on, feeling his phone buzz again. He grabbed it, quickly reading the messages. “Johnny and Miles just got picked up by Happy, so why don’t we try to get a good spot? I have press badges for the two of you,” Peter said, singsonging as he held them out. Ned took his without question, but MJ hesitated.

“You know impersonating a member of the press is a crime, right?” 

“I do indeed know that, yes,” Peter nodded, pinning his own badge to his shirt. Then MJ gave him an actual smile, lighting up her eyes like they were actually made of stars. She reached over and took the badge, pinning it onto the pocket of the green blouse she was wearing. 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get more attractive, Peter Benjamin Parker,” she said, walking ahead like she didn’t just drop a bomb on him. Ned followed her, snorting at the look on his face.

“Might want to close your mouth some time, Pete. Looks a little obvious,” he noted seriously, as if he wasn’t oblivious to Johnny flirting with him for two years. 

Some friends. God, he loved them.

* * *

“Over and over again, the Spider-Team has been here in our city’s most dire moments. From alien invasions to murderous robots, to the most recent attack of radioactive fowl, the team has protected our people with no thought to themselves,” Mayor Blasio drawled, the sounds of babies crying, people talking, and cameras clicking covered by the Starktech sound system and microphone. 

Peter was one of the photographers dutifully clicking away, in a highly-envied spot judging by some of the dirty looks pedestrians and other photographers were giving him. MJ and Ned were close by, MJ having given Ned a piece of paper out of her bag to make it look like he was taking notes, and using her phone as a recorder. (“We have to play the part,” Ned had argued.) The Bugle was a pain in the ass, but it did have quite a bit of weight in the journalist world of the city. 

He took a quick shot of the podium that Blasio was talking at; next to him were the three alleged members of the team, standing at attention. In real life, Johnny was all movement and energy, but in uniform he was still and standing strong. Sometimes Peter forgot that his friend had spent years in front of the camera for his own superhero work. With their masks on, Miles and Gwen couldn’t be seen, but Peter had no doubt in his mind that they had looked for the three of them in the crowd immediately. On the other side of Blasio, sitting in several folding chairs were the key speakers-Tony, Pepper, and quite a few other politicians and businesspeople. 

He clicked a few photos of Blasio, angling it so Miles, Gwen, and Johnny’s profiles were visible in their line. Blasio was still talking, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if all of the people in those chairs were talking, or just Tony and Pepper. If that was the case, it would be forever until they all got the chance to leave. 

“As a team, they have done their hardest to ensure that the equality and freedom this city is built on will not be threatened,” Blasio continued, prompting a snort from MJ. Peter looked over at her, interested. It was the first noise she had made since the whole ceremony had started. 

“Did you see the bill he’s in favor of? He wants to move Xavier’s school to Central Park to get taxes from them,” she explained in a low voice, noticing them staring at her. Peter wrinkled his nose, and angled his camera away from the man. Jameson was just going to have to deal with not having any photos of the mayor. 

“And he won’t shut up, either,” she noted. “Wonder how long the crowd will be okay with that?” She had a good point, considering the talking and murmuring in the crowd had steadily gotten louder over the past half-hour. Peter wasn’t sure if it was his ears picking up on it, or just the size of the crowd. There had to be at least ten thousand people there, and that was low-balling it. They stretched in every direction Peter could see, the stimuli of all the noise and movement grating on his senses. Thank god for this little haven with Ned and MJ. 

“I’m guessing another five minutes, and then we’ll see some tomatoes flying,” he joked, moving closer to MJ to get a shot of Gwen. 

“I’d wager three, but maybe the crowd will be on the best behavior,” she said, moving closer to point at a spot above Miles. “Could you maybe get a shot with the three of them and the light from the window? I think it would look cool,” she suggested. She moved the camera slightly, and Peter found himself trying to remember how to breathe. 

“And now, our team will give us a few words before our speakers begin!” Peter clicked the button, his camera capturing the image. He moved the camera away from him and gazed at the image. It was, as MJ had said, beyond cool. He didn’t realize that MJ was still there until she nudged his shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t tell Jameson I suggested that shot, or else you’ll be out of a job,” she said casually, a deadpan expression on her face. His brain went offline, and he opened his mouth, fully aware that he was probably about to ruin everything. 

“MJ,” he started, not sure if he was about to tell her the shot was good, or tease her back, or confess his love and ask her on a date. She looked up at him, her brown eyes expectant. “I wanted to just say…” He stopped, trying to stop his stupid heart from making a mistake, but it was hard with her looking at him like that. 

Maybe it was the distraction of standing next to the girl he really, really liked, or maybe it was the huge crowd dulling his senses. But only a millisecond before the first bomb went off did his spider-sense kick into high alert. 

He grabbed MJ and Ned and pulled them to the ground, covering them as best as he could. The blast went off, and within seconds, it was followed by what sounded like a half dozen more. Screams started to fill his ears, but when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see, surrounded by a bright yellow gas that made everything except his friends difficult to see. 

“Ned! MJ! Shit, are you hurt?!” He yelled to get over the sounds of the screaming, but Ned frantically pointed to his ears. Shit, they must have been close to one of the detonators. Hopefully, his ears were just wringing and he hadn’t popped an eardrum. MJ was digging in her bag, looking for water, no doubt to prevent any burn in their eyes from whatever the hell was in the air. Peter looked over the two of them, and other than what looked like dust and dirt all over them, and Ned’s ears, they looked overall unharmed.

But what about other people in the crowd? Shit. The screams were still going on, and as bad an idea as it was to go off without the suit, he couldn’t just let people around him lie hurt and in pain, maybe even dying. He pulled the web-shooters out of his bag and grabbed his spare mask, shoving it into his back pocket. He pushed the camera bag at Ned, and grabbed MJ’s shoulder. 

“Stay safe, and try to stay down!” She nodded at him and he ran off, desperately trying to see his way around. It was difficult though, looking for hurt people when he could barely see two feet in front of him. It was noisy and chaotic as people were running, trying to get away. Over the sound of yelling, he could vaguely hear Gwen, Miles, and Johnny shout to each other, but that was about it. He could faintly smell smoke, but it was a familiar scent, the smell of flames from Johnny flaming on. Rest in pieces, his burned suit. 

Shit. Tony was up there too. He strained his ears, trying to hear anything from the man, but even if there wasn’t mass chaos, picking up on the whir of his repulsors in a crowd this size would be difficult. It was the thought of Tony that caused him to trip, bumping into someone and twisting his foot. He hit the ground hard, trying to break his fall but touching something solid. He was able to roll aside before hitting his face flat on the concrete, but he got an eyeful of the solid thing he touched.

A dead man was to his right, blood puddling around his neck. Peter gagged, looking away from the deep wound on his throat. Thank God the man’s eyes were closed. He got up, and changed directions, trying to head towards the podium. It wasn’t the best idea to do it around so many people, but if he needed to fight, and it was looking more and more like that, he needed a better line of sight. 

As he ran north, he passed several more bodies, all of them injured in the same way. The longer he spent in the smoke, the easier it was to be able to see, though it was still a mess to try and get through. It was odd, he realized. Other than the people who had been killed, everyone else looked basically unharmed. If anything, they were dirty with dust like his friends had been, but they looked nothing like people who had been in a bombing would look like. 

That’s when he noticed the figure in front of him, standing still. They were completely covered in a metal suit, except for their mouth. It looked oddly familiar, that mouth. Peter stopped, the hair on the back of his neck standing up and his senses telling him to run, _now._ He knew deep in his gut that this figure, perfectly still amidst people running for their lives, had to be part of this. 

He broke into a sprint, but the figure stuck its hand out, grabbing someone at random by the neck. 

The moments slowed down, each second feeling like hours. He was still running, and he moved his arm to shoot, but the figure was faster, leaning down and biting _hard_ on the throat of the person, whose screams were drowned out by the sound of blood gurgling. Instantly, bile-filled Peter’s mouth as the figure moved its head back, spitting (and he refused to think of what it was spitting out) and letting its victim drop to the ground. Peter was frozen, even as his body kept telling him to move and get the hell away from the monster in front of him. But his body wouldn’t listen. 

The figure walked a few meters closer to him, and the smell of decay hit him. If he wasn’t about to vomit before, he was ready now. It observed him, as if it was studying him and his weaknesses. A movement of its hand snapped Peter out of it, and he was about to rush it again, when a pair of mechanical wings snapped out from its back. Shit. 

The figure stayed one more second, then leaped, wings flapping silently despite their rickety appearance. 

Peter was left alone, watching the smoke start to thin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 Warnings: Peter has trouble eating due to nausea/guilt, discussion over Peter's eating, Peter mentions an accidental death from a snapped neck

“Well, you look like shit,” MJ stated matter of factly, sitting herself down at their usual study table and pushing a coffee to him. Peter didn’t look up, his head on the table, but he stuck his arm out and pulled the coffee to him.

“I’ll Venmo you,” he sighed, leaning up and taking a beautiful, blessed sip of the coffee. Thank god for MJ, and more importantly, for their aligned schedules. “And thanks, I appreciate it,” he said, sticking a thumb up and putting his head back on the table.

“I told you not to take those shots with Johnny,” MJ shrugged, pulling out her laptop and one of her textbooks. If MJ was already taking notes on their first day, senior year was out for his hungover ass. 

“Thanks, mother. In my defense, I only had three, that normally doesn’t affect me. If he didn’t have that Asgardian mead, I’d be fine,” he muttered, closing his eyes and contemplating how he would web Johnny to the wall when he got home. 

“Gwen was throwing up this morning, so you’re doing better than her, at least,” MJ said, writing down a note on a sticky note and putting it on one of the first pages of the chapter. Peter winced at that, the background nausea he had been feeling all morning poking its head up at his friend’s words. 

“How the hell do you look so normal? I mean, I know you didn’t have any of the mead, but still,” he grumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows and looking at MJ intently. Other than some very faint dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep she usually experienced before the first day of classes, she looked totally fine. 

“It’s called drinking water between shots and making sure I eat before drinking,” she explained, taking out a granola bar from her bag. “Here-Ned told me you left without having breakfast.” He hesitated to take it, making her eyes narrow slightly. Damn-she knew his tells far too well. “Take it, Parker.” He took the granola bar, tucking it into his pocket for later. MJ looked like she wanted to tell him to eat it now, but she seemed to realize it would be pushing her luck. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. “How was class?” 

“Oh, you know, the usual intolerable get to know you icebreakers,” she sighed. “I really hope it’s not like this in med school,” she added under her breath. Peter’s lips quirked up at that. 

“What, you don’t want to play Two Truths and a Lie with your fellow doctors?” She rolled her eyes, looking at him over the top of her laptop. 

“No, I’d rather we just focus on not losing our watches in our cadavers,” she said, giving him a sickly sweet smile that made him snort on his coffee. “God, you’re a mess. Sometimes I still can’t believe that you stop muggings.” The words made him stop, and even though he knew MJ didn’t mean it in a bad way, he couldn’t help but feel the guilt he’d been trying to ignore since the honor ceremony. 

“Neither can the rest of New York,” he said, running his fingers through his messy hair. He hadn’t had the chance to get a shower this morning, just pull on a shirt that didn’t smell like vodka, shove his feet in his sneakers, and grab his bag and keys before running to the subway station. 

“Peter…” MJ started, her voice suddenly gentle. Peter  _ really  _ didn’t want to have a conversation like this right now, but MJ wasn’t going to let this and the granola bar go. He pulled his own laptop out, pulling up his schedule and looking to see if his professors had put their syllabuses up yet. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just being dramatic,” he sighed, trying to give her a self-deprecating smile. He didn’t look at her eyes, staring instead at the bridge between her eyebrows. He really didn’t need to see her analyzing him right now. 

“Look, I know I’m not the best with talking feelings, Peter. That’s part of why I didn’t see it as a big deal when you took that third shot last night. I thought you just needed a chance to let loose. But you’re still upset, my guess is over the ceremony, so we’re talking. Well, you’re talking, and I’m listening.” She sat back in her chair, arms crossed. 

MJ certainly wasn’t alone in not being the best at talking about her feelings. Peter hated doing it, even with May and Tony. It felt awkward, embarrassing. He felt like a burden. One of the therapists he had talked to last year had suggested that it was because for as long as he could remember, he had had to rely on other people taking care of him, ever since his parents’ deaths. Peter didn’t particularly think they were wrong, but he’d rather repress that situation and deal with it later. 

“It’s not the ceremony, entirely,” he started. “I mean, yeah. I feel shitty that people got hurt when I was there, that I didn’t do enough.”

“And that’s okay. I know Gwen feels the same, Miles probably does too,” MJ said matter of factly. 

“But the reminders in the papers are...not great,” he sighed, thinking of the constant headlines that had appeared over the past week. Thankfully, none of the papers had mused that Johnny’s sudden appearance at the ceremony was because he was wearing Peter’s suit. Part of that, no doubt, was because the rest of the Fantastic Four had appeared to help with the situation, probably called by Tony. 

“You’ve gotten bad press before though, Peter. Hell, you work at the  _ Bugle _ , they pay you with that bad press,” she mused, tapping her fingers against the thin pages of her textbook. She always did that when she was trying to figure something out. Suddenly, Peter felt like he was a bug being examined under a microscope. 

“It’s just different this time,” he offered weakly. “I mean, usually it’s only one or two papers, and it’s usually just the Bugle, so I know what’s being published. But it’s a lot of papers, MJ, and they still haven’t let up.” 

“They will soon. I’m serious, they will, Peter,” MJ said, her voice confident. “Look, I’m not one to give the press the benefit of the doubt, but shit happens everyday. You couldn’t have done anything, even if you were suited up. Miles told me he could barely see Gwen, and she was right next to him. There’s nothing you could have done, the papers will get over it.” She turned back to her textbook once Peter nodded, though her words didn’t completely alleviate how he was feeling.

He knew MJ had a point-crimes happened in New York everyday, and he wasn’t the first superhero to mess up. The issue was that the headlines were bothering him so much because he knew how  _ right  _ the papers were. They were calling him a coward for running from the scene. That had been what it looked like, after all, when the smoke cleared. Only Peter and the rest of the team noticed the small pile of ash that had been his uniform where Johnny had been standing. Gwen had quickly noticed and brushed it over with her foot. With no trace of him or his uniform, the press had come to the conclusion that he had run away. 

He hadn’t run away, but that wasn’t why he was a coward. He was a coward because he froze. He froze in front of that figure and let an innocent person get their throat ripped out. All because he had some mechanical wings.  _ Pathetic.  _ Suddenly, the nausea pushed against his stomach, hard, and he grabbed his backpack, dumping out his books and pens and throwing up inside. He heard MJ sigh and close her laptop. 

“I’ll text Miles to bring you your backup backpack,” she said, her thumbs tapping against her phone. In response, he just gave her a thumbs-up. 

* * *

Thankfully, despite vomiting in his backpack and his hangover, the day hadn’t been too bad. Miles had been able to drop off his backpack before Peter had his first lab, and Peter had been willing to kiss him. (Miles had refused, gagging at the smell of his vomit-breath. Whoops.) His classes, despite being at the senior level, were with some of his favorite professors, and as his headache from the hangover went away, he started to feel more interested in the semester plans they had described in their syllabuses. He also met with Ned and Miles to eat some lunch together before Miles went to his art class. He hadn’t had the time to pack his lunch today, but he had the granola bar MJ had given him, and Ned was still a little queasy from the night before, so he let Peter have the rest of his sandwich. 

By the time he was headed to Tony’s to pick up his new suit, he honestly was feeling pretty good. Of course, with the Parker luck he had, that wasn’t to last. 

Tony had told him he was going to be spending more time at the tower, and he appreciated not having to take the two hour long drive to the Compound. When he got into the elevator though and put in the lab’s floor, the compartment didn’t move. Peter looked up at the ceiling, confused.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Any reason why the elevator isn’t working?” He asked, starting to feel like his good day was about to end. He could already feel his headache coming back.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parker. Boss has just asked me instead to take you to the penthouse, rather than the lab.”

“But I need to grab my suit,” he argued, despite knowing it was useless to try and get the AI to change her mind. 

“No need, Boss has already grabbed it from the lab,” she chirped, her lilt for once not making him smile. Peter loved Tony, but he was far from sneaky. He tended to have the harder conversations in what was an “environment with no distractions.” Peter couldn’t help but wonder what parenting book he found that in. “Going up now, Mr. Parker.” Just great. 

The elevator quickly brought him up to Tony’s penthouse, leaving him stewing in frustration. Tony had been angry about Johnny being in the suit, but it hadn’t lasted long, and he had even teased Peter a bit for pulling one on him, to which Johnny, hearing him over the phone, expressed that it was his acting skills that had pulled it all together. But other than that, Tony had been quiet throughout the week, texting him yesterday to come and pick up his new suit. Peter really had thought he wasn’t going to have another feelings talk. Tony wasn’t a therapist, but it was harder to cover up things with him when he went full dad mode. He knew he was going to end up spilling how shitty he felt, and then everything about the figure would come out. 

From past experiences, he knew Tony would never judge him for freezing. But that didn’t mean he didn’t judge himself. It didn’t mean that he wanted to talk about this out loud. 

The doors opened, and Peter steeled himself, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. If he looked anxious, that wouldn’t help his case. He stepped out of the elevator, taking off his shoes and putting his bag down. 

“Tony?” He could hear someone making coffee, and he went towards the kitchen. To his surprise, though, his mentor wasn’t alone. Rhodey was standing there, looking through something on his StarkPad while Tony was messing with the espresso machine. 

“Kid! I swear to god you’re still getting taller,” Rhodey exclaimed, turning towards him and smiling. Despite how he was feeling, Peter couldn’t help but smile back. Rhodey always cheered him up, and some of his best memories in the lab had been when Tony and his husband had been bickering over the newest modifications to each other’s suits. Plus, Rhodey always took him more seriously than Tony. He treated him like an adult, not like a piece of glass. Over the past year, that had been refreshing. 

“Maybe you’re just getting shorter,” Peter snarked, going over and giving him a hug. “I thought you were in Australia, when did you get back?” 

“I was able to pull a few strings and get back a little early. What can I say, I missed the coffee Tones makes,” he explained, though his smile faltered a little bit. Uh-oh. 

“Sour Patch, if you’re suggesting you only married me because of my talent around the french press, I’m wounded,” Tony drawled, turning around with the tiny espresso cup in his hand. Despite his casual teasing, however, his eyebrows were drawn together, which was never a good thing. “Peter, you hungry?” 

“No, I’m good. I’ll take a latte though,” he said cautiously, sitting down next to Rhodey, who had turned back to his reading. Rhodey was trained to keep up a casual demeanor, but Peter had spent the past twenty-one incredibly anxious years scanning people to look for changes in behavior. Case in point, he looked uncomfortable. 

“Interesting,” Tony muttered, causing Peter to look up at him. He made Peter the latte though, putting it in front of him after a few minutes of tense silence. 

“Sooo….can I get my suit, or?” Peter had a feeling that the answer was no, that Tony had never actually brought him here to get his new suit, but he still had to ask. “Because my back-up suit is okay, but the vision is a little weaker, so.” The suit was over a year old, so it was no surprise. Tony just stared at him, as if he was searching for something in his eyes. 

“Do you know what’s interesting about your old suit, Pete?” Peter looked at him in confusion. Other than the suit being a little tighter and the vision goggles were a little weaker, it wasn’t too different from his normal suit. It didn’t have some of the features his everyday suit had, but those had been added through time and experience. “Do you remember what happened the last time you wore it?” The words made his heart stop.

Shit. 

He had last worn the suit in March. 

Right before his meltdown. When he had ripped out all of Karen’s programming. He and Tony had gotten into a huge fight about it. 

“I do, yes,” Peter said, his voice tight. Peter nodded, his own jaw set. 

“So you can imagine my surprise, after that argument, after everything that’s happened this past year, that I got notified by F.R.I.D.A.Y. that the vitals coming from your suit were completely out of balance? And I asked, what the hell? I have Peter’s suit, how could his vitals be getting sent to me? And she suggested that you were wearing your old suit. Not just a suit that didn’t have the Training Wheels Protocols, which, might I add, was what we agreed on when we got you back into the field, but that you were wearing the old suit you had completely taken Karen out of? Not just modified her, but ripped her out? The AI who’s meant to keep you safe.” Rhodey had stopped pretending to read, and was looking at Peter. Or at least, Peter thought he was. He could only see him from the corner of his eyes; the rest of his attention was solely on Tony.

“I-I didn’t think it was a big deal. I had to go on patrol, and it was there, so.” Peter knew the excuse was lame, but in his defense, Tony hadn’t asked him to not go on patrol.

“You couldn’t have taken the week off?” Tony was staring at him incredulously, his own espresso getting cold. 

“Tones, lay off him,” Rhodey murmured, leaning over and squeezing Peter’s shoulder.

“I have a responsibility to protect people, Tony.” 

“You can’t do that if your vitals are out of whack, Peter. Maybe if they had been fine, I wouldn’t be pissed. Okay, scratch that,” he said after a second, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I would still be pissed. You know the rules. You aren’t allowed to go patrolling without Karen-”

“And your Training Wheels Protocols,” Peter muttered, his voice undeniably bitter. This was taking a far, far different course than he had expected. He had expected awkwardness, the tension from spilling his guts out. Not an argument. 

“You clearly need those, considering your vitals look like shit. Your electrolytes are out of whack, your sodium is low, your potassium is low, your magnesium is low-should I continue? I bet if we took a urine sample right now, the pH would be off too. So, let me ask again. Are you hungry?” 

Peter couldn’t have less of an appetite right now. 

“I’m not hungry,” Peter said, voice tight and serious.

“For the love of god, Peter, don’t start with the lying. I can’t handle that again,” Tony responded, his voice breaking a bit at the end. Despite his anger, Peter was hit with a wave of guilt. He hadn’t meant to make Tony upset, because he genuinely wasn’t trying to start with his-eating thing, he called it-again. 

“Tony, go take a walk, you’re losing your cool,” Rhodey said, his own voice sharp. Tony looked at him, and then glanced at Peter. He nodded, and walked away, looking like he was about to cry. Or destroy a piece of scrap metal with his blasters. Rhodey turned to Peter, looking at him sadly. Fucking hell. He really didn’t want to deal with this. 

“How about some peanut butter crackers?” Rhodey suggested, opening the cabinet that was full of Peter’s favorite foods before Peter could even respond. He opened the package and handed them over to Peter, waiting for him to put one in his mouth. Once he had started chewing, Rhodey began to talk.

“The two of you are so similar, I’m surprised you don’t butt heads more often,” Rhodey mused. Peter shrugged, not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment. “I’m not going to defend the way that got out of hand. Tony could have been a little...calmer when it came to talking about your vitals. But he’s not wrong about you taking care of yourself Peter. Or about breaking the rules for patrolling.” Peter sighed at that. 

“I wasn’t lying about not being hungry. I ate a granola bar and some of Ned’s lunch today. I didn’t get the chance to pack a lunch because I was running late,” he explained. 

“And your vitals over the rest of the week?” Peter shrugged, shoving another cracker in his mouth. 

“It’s been a long week. A really shitty long week,” he admitted. Rhodey nodded, an eyebrow going up. 

“I’m assuming this is about the ceremony?” Peter didn’t say anything, but he was sure Rhodey knew the answer. “Tony told me what happened after I found him making a new suit. You kind of go through those like crazy, huh?” Not true, at least since his growth spurts had stopped. Backpacks, that was a different story. 

“I really didn’t think about the whole Karen thing when I went out in my old suit,” Peter said, trying to defend himself. “It’s my backup suit, and I figured even if it was old it would be fine for my two patrols this week. I was honestly more concerned about it being too tight,” he admitted. Rhodey snorted at that. 

“I can understand that, Pete. And I know Tony does too. Lord knows the shit he’s done without thinking,” Rhodey muttered. “But you know why he freaked out, Peter. The last time you wore that suit, you wore it so Karen wouldn’t be able to tell him what you were up to.” The reminder of why he had taken Karen out was not something he wanted to hear right now. 

“I know,” Peter said quietly. “But I genuinely didn’t think of it like that.” Rhodey gave him a sad smile. 

“You’re so worried about other people, kid, that you don’t realize how worried we are about you,” he said, taking the empty cracker wrapper from Peter. “We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Peter just nodded, his stomach feeling slightly sick from the mix of peanut butter and the guilt he was feeling over all this. “Why don’t you go talk to Tony? Tell him what’s going on?”

“I’m not really sure that would be a good idea,” Peter said cautiously. “I don’t want to piss him off more.” 

“He’s more worried than pissed off. What bothers him is being kept in the dark. Go talk to him. F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’s Tones?” Peter noticed that Rhodey also looked up at the ceiling when he talked to the AI.

“In Mr. Parker’s room, Colonel Rhodes,” she said, her voice smooth. Rhodey gave him a look and made a shooing motion, grabbing his tablet to go sit on one of the couches. Peter rolled his eyes, but followed his order, going down the hallway to his bedroom. 

The door was slightly ajar, and Peter stood outside, waiting a second before knocking. He heard Tony snort from inside.

“Kid, you don’t have to knock on your own door. Come in,” he added, after it was clear that Peter was waiting to be let in. Peter opened the door wider, finding Tony sitting on the edge of his bed.

His room in the Tower was a little more bare than it had been in high school, since he had taken some of his posters and books to the apartment. But other than that, it still looked the same, the same light orange walls, the color of a creamsicle. His Star Wars posters and some of his photography were still on the walls, as well as the Hulk calendar that Tony had bought him. His desk was neat and bare except for the new, folded suit that was sitting on top of it. Peter had to fight the temptation to go look at it, instead going to sit down next to Tony. He fidgeted with the comforter, unsure of how to start. Thankfully, Tony talked first.

“I’m sorry, kid. I shouldn’t have come at you like that,” he said seriously, his brown eyes tired and sad. He twisted his wedding band on his finger, a nervous tic he had had for years. 

“I mean, you weren’t wrong. My vitals  _ are  _ probably shit,” Peter admitted, shrugging as he did so. He wasn’t particularly surprised that his metabolism, fast as it was, was mad at him. 

“Still, I shouldn’t have been so...harsh, I guess.” Peter looked up at him, frowning.

“I’m not fragile, Tony. I don’t want to be babied. I can handle a conversation, you know,” he said. He sat up a little straighter, trying to get his point across. 

“I know, Pete, my point is, we didn’t have a conversation. I talked at you, not with you, and that wasn’t fair.” That was true, but sounded suspiciously like parenting advice. 

“How much time have you been spending with May?” He asked, the teasing making Tony laugh just a little bit.

“Excuse you, I’ve been in your life since you were sixteen. I’d like to think that I figured out how to do this at least a little bit. Okay, I may have picked that one up from May,” he said when Peter raised his eyebrows. 

“And does May know we’re having this conversation?” Peter asked, knowing that the answer was definitely yes. Tony and May had their disagreements over the years when it came to Peter, mainly on giving him pizza for breakfast and if it was okay to let him go on missions in different countries, but once she knew he was Spiderman, they had agreed on the two of them not keeping secrets from each other. If it had to do with Peter, then Tony usually was going to call May as soon as humanly possible. 

Still, he wasn’t looking forward to May asking him about this during their next dinner. 

“You know she does, Peter. If you’re not eating again, she needs to know.” Peter couldn’t disagree with that, he understood where they were coming from. But this wasn’t like last time. 

“I get that, Tony, seriously. But it isn’t like last year. I’m not trying to skip out on meals. I just-genuinely forgot, I guess. I haven’t been very hungry, and when you’re not hungry, it’s easy to just. Skip meals,” he said, trying to explain what was happening. 

“I get that, Pete. But it started out the same way last year. You were sad and lost your appetite, and then it spiraled. I don’t want that to happen again. I worry about you, kid. All the time,” Tony sighed. 

“I’m serious though, Tony. It’s not going to happen again. I’m okay, my job is good, Gwen and MJ are back, things are fine. I’m just a little anxious, okay? I have all those coping methods you made me learn,” he said pointedly, thinking back to the hours of therapy. “You can’t stop me from ever experiencing anxiety.” 

“Try me, I can figure it out.” Peter rolled his eyes, putting his feet on the bed. 

“Yeah, if you bubble-wrap me. I swear, Tony. I’m doing okay. I told Rhodey, I did eat today. This isn’t going to happen again, the week has just sucked, alright?” Tony looked at him with a glint in his eyes, the look that he got when he was trying to fix a problem.

“It’s not because of the press, is it?” Peter shook his head, taking one of the stress toys out of the bin on his nightstand. “Is it still the ceremony? You seemed okay when we were talking earlier in the week.”

“It sort of is. Like yes, but not really? It’s more complicated than just the ceremony,” he started. “I feel bad that I couldn’t do more. People  _ died _ , Tony.” 

“I know, kiddo,” Tony sighed, his voice quiet. Peter knew that Tony understood how it felt. It never got easier, having people die on the job. “But it wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have done more with all that smoke. Especially with Johnny wearing your suit.” The guilt felt sour in his stomach. “You do realize that, right Peter?” 

“What if that wasn’t the case, though?” He asked, his voice hesitant. Even though he knew Tony would understand, he still didn’t want to say it out loud. 

“Did you see something, Pete?” Tony asked, curious. After the smoke had cleared, there had been nothing there except frightened people and the bodies of innocent people. There had been no trace of the figure, despite the searches that Gwen, Miles, Tony, and the Fantastic Four had led. All they had found were traces of that yellow smoke. It contained bits of sodium, but Tony and Reed had been trying to figure out what exactly was in it. It was bizarre, almost otherworldly.

“I saw someone die,” Peter said bluntly, blurting it out and watching Tony’s eyes widen in shock. “His throat-I saw him get murdered.” Tony looked horrified, and pulled Peter into a hug. “I saw him die, and I froze.” 

“Jesus, kid, why didn’t you say something? Are you okay?” Peter had a feeling that rather than help Tony understand why he was so stressed, it was only going to make him more worried. 

“I saw the person who did it, Tony. Kind of.” Peter pulled back from the hug, looking at his mentor seriously. “Tony, I think it was Toomes.” Tony frowned, and Peter’s heart sank. “I know it sounds impossible, but it was him. Trust me on this.” He had spent the days since the ceremony trying to remember why that mouth had looked familiar, and remembered the smile Toomes had given him on his way to the homecoming dance. 

“Pete, Toomes is still in jail. I have surveillance on him twenty-four-seven,” Tony explained, his brow furrowing with worry.

“I know what I saw, Tony. I’m not crazy. The guy had mechanical wings. Wings exactly like the ones Toomes wore.” Tony looked at him carefully, and Peter wanted to curl up in embarrassment. 

“Peter, Toomes is in jail, trust me. Are you sure the wings were exactly the same?” Peter thought back, thinking of the mechanics of the wings. They had been slightly older, more worn. If anything, they looked almost vintage. His mask too, had looked old and tarnished, like they had been through the ringer. Toomes’s wings had been perfectly constructed. 

“Not exactly, no,” Peter started, a shadow of doubt creeping up on him. 

“It could be a copycat, Pete. I’ll admit, the wings are weird, trust me, but it just isn’t Toomes. It can’t be. Do you think it could have been Osborn?” Tony asked softly. Peter shook his head quickly at that, not looking Tony in the eye. “Okay, okay. This is good information-it gives us something to look for when we’re searching. You did good, kid. I’m just sorry that you had to watch him kill someone,” Tony said, looking at him earnestly. 

“I guess, yeah,” Peter said, shrinking in on himself. 

“It’s not your fault, Peter. Okay? I promise. Freezing is completely normal in a situation like this. Especially because-” Peter got up, going to the suit and refusing to look at Tony. 

“Is this my suit?” He loved Tony, but he sure as hell was not having this conversation. 

“Peter-” Tony started, but Peter interrupted him.

“Tony. Is this my suit?” Tony was silent for a moment, but chose not to push. 

“Yeah, newly made. Try not to let Johnny burn this one, okay? I added some new features.” He got up and went over to Peter, unfolding the suit and holding it up. “I increased the suit’s flame resistance, and programmed a few of the webs that you were working on last week. Oh, and increased the vision capabilities of your goggles. Like it?” Peter looked at the material, a smirk on his face.

“I guess you don’t want Johnny burning this one up?” Tony rolled his eyes, folding the suit back up and handing it to Peter. 

“Tell him not to pull a stunt like that again. Reed was majorly pissed with me, and trust me, I’m not looking to repeat that experience with him. The less I can talk to him, the better.” 

“Can do,” Peter said, giving him a thumbs up and holding the suit against his chest. “Sue yelled at Johnny over the phone, so it wasn’t just you getting yelled at, trust me.” 

“May he rest in pieces,” Tony snorted. “C’mon, that was enough heart to heart time, Rhodey will be calling Lifetime soon. Why don’t we call May, have her over for dinner? We can talk about your first day,” Tony suggested, going to the door. 

“Yeah, that would be awesome, actually,” Peter said, trying his best to smile at him. He loved having dinner with May on the first day. They usually got something special and talked about how his classes went. He needed that normalcy right now, especially with the thought of Toomes and-yeah, he needed the distraction. His grin though, as much he tried, didn’t seem to completely fool Tony. 

“Pete, maybe you’re a little stretched thin from work. You could take some time off, maybe? Focus on school?” He could tell it was Tony’s last attempt (today, at least) to try to get him to talk more, but he really wanted to get the hell away from his feelings right now.

“I’m fine, Tony. Trust me. I would tell you if something was wrong, okay? I promise.”

* * *

“So tell me, how’s senior year?” Betty was taking a break from work, jotting down notes in her planner and had been chatting with Peter about some of their old high school memories. He was sitting at his desk, editing the photos he had taken on patrol that week. May had suggested at dinner with Tony and Rhodey that since it was the first week of school, he take the week off of work or from patrol, but he had insisted on breaking in the new suit. Plus, he had bills to pay. 

“Not too bad, so far. You know how it is, syllabus week,” he shrugged. The past three days, he had only been able to come in for the afternoon, but he had cleared his Thursday and Friday to get a full two days of work in. It meant Monday through Wednesday were full with his courses, work,  _ and  _ patrol, but he’d be fine. That’s what he was telling himself, at least. 

“I can’t believe I miss hearing professors try to explain their syllabuses, but here I am,” Betty sighed, pulling out a stack of papers and sorting them. 

“Wishing you hadn’t graduated early?” Peter asked, eyebrows raised. While Betty had thrived at college with them, he knew she had been excited to graduate. 

“Not really. I do like my job. It helps that Jameson doesn’t yell at me constantly,” she joked, spinning in her chair to look at him. “I just miss you guys, I guess. I didn’t realize how used to this I got?” She gestured between the two of them. “I was fine in the spring, because I was so excited about starting and I obviously saw you guys because it was our last semester together, but it’s different, being the only one who’s graduated. And this summer, it was nice getting to walk in and see your face regularly,” she explained, giving him a melancholy smile. Peter wasn’t really sure what to say. He and Betty had been friends for a while, but he didn’t know she cared about him that much. She had always been closer to Ned and MJ. 

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow?” Peter asked, trying to remember if everyone was free. “We could hang out, all of us, maybe watch a movie and just catch up.” He was on patrol tomorrow night, but he just wouldn’t drink, and he could have one of the drone bots he had designed sit on the roof and listen for anything. If there was a problem, it would let him know and he could leave. “Gwen might be at Riri’s, but I think the rest of us are free.” 

“That sounds really perfect, honestly. I can bring some wine! But tell me-has Gwen finally told her how she feels?” Betty leaned forward, interested. Peter snorted, moving his chair closer to hers.

“Of course not. To be honest, I’m banking on Ned and Johnny getting together before they do. And you know how hopeless they are,” Peter said, thinking of his friends. Johnny hadn’t found out yet about Ned’s date with Jordan, but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to go over well. 

“Ned texted me about Jordan-at least he’s playing the field,” Betty mused. “Unrequited love is a pain in the ass,” she sighed. Uh oh. 

“How are things with Flash?” Betty’s mouth turned down the slightest bit at the question, and she turned back to her desk. 

“I don’t know, I guess. Sometimes I think things are great, that we’re figuring our shit out. And then he just, he ignores me for a day or two, and it sucks. And I know why he does it; if anything, he’s the one who doesn’t realize why. He pushes me away before I can do the same to him. But I’m not willing to put up with that, which he does actually agree with. He’s told me before how he thinks I deserve better. But he thinks I deserve better with someone else, not better from him.” She stared at him for a second, and then turned away, her cheeks pink. “Sorry, I know that was a lot. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that.” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Peter said, trying to assure her. It  _ was _ fine, Peter didn’t mind listening to someone vent. But he had no idea what the hell to say in response. “I’m sorry that’s going on. He does really like you, though, Betty. He’s just an idiot sometimes. He doesn’t realize how important he is to you.” Betty looked at him again, her blue eyes almost disbelieving. 

“Pot, meet kettle,” she said, continuing to type. “I just really need to destress tomorrow night, I think. What time should I be there?” Peter wasn’t sure what she meant by that first part, but he got the idea that asking wouldn’t get him anywhere. If Betty wanted to say something, she’d say it outright. If she wanted to keep something to herself, good luck trying to get it out of there. 

“Hm. I mean, none of us have classes, so maybe eight? I can check-” He was about to say he would ask the rest of their friends, but Jameson came up to his desk, looking pissed. 

“Parker!” Goddamnit. Peter sat up a little straighter, cursing his past self for leaving his desk looking like a hurricane had hit. 

“Sir?” Jameson slapped down a manilla folder on his desk, motioning for him to open it up. Peter did, and was surprised to see the photos he had sent in from earlier in the week inside. 

“What the hell are these?” Funny, when Jameson was this close up to him, Peter swore he could see literal steam coming off of his forehead. 

“Uh-the photos I took?” Peter hated how dumb he sounded, but he genuinely didn’t understand why Jameson was so upset. They were no different from his usual photos. He turned to Betty for help, but she looked just as confused as him. Jameson leaned forward, and Peter had to fight the urge to lean back. Sure, one well-aimed punch from him could probably collapse his boss’s entire chest, but the man was intimidating. 

“You want to tell me why the shit you turned in looks like you’ve been hanging out all buddy-buddy with your little bug friend?” Oh fuck. Fuck. The photos didn’t seem that different from other ones, but had he taken a photo that made it clear that the whole “Oh, I know Spiderman, he lets me take close up photos of him!” bit was a sham? 

“Sir-” Jameson glared, and Peter shut his mouth quickly. He could feel himself starting to get more anxious, the possibility of his secret coming out sending him into panic mode. 

“The idiot went and abandoned a crowd of thousands after bombs went off, and you’re taking photos like he did nothing wrong? We don’t need photos of him shooting a web, Parker, we need accountability. The city is pissed, you expect them to buy a paper that has a photo of him showing off?” Oh. 

“Um. Sir, I’m not really sure I can get accountability with a photo. I just photograph what he does,” he tried to explain. How the hell do you take an accountable photo? A video, maybe, of him apologizing for ‘running off’? 

“Well tell your little buddy to stop posing for photos and to start acting like the killer who let people die,” Jameson snarled, snapping up the folder. The words were a slap in the face, and Peter sat back wordlessly. Jameson stalked away, as if he hadn’t just provoked the guilt in Peter’s mind. He didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping his chair until he heard something start to crack; he let go and looked up, seeing Betty watching him carefully.

“Peter? Don’t listen to him, okay? He’s just in a pissy mood because Oscorp refused to give us that interview he wanted. Your photos are as good as ever,” she said, voice sincere. 

“He has a point,” Peter admitted, and he hated how hollow his voice sounded. It was one thing to think about what he had done, what he had let happen. It was one thing to have the newspapers bash him. That felt almost anonymous, the names under the headlines meaning nothing to him. It was another thing to have a reminder of how useless he was said directly to his face.

“They aren’t awful photos Peter, I promise.” That’s what Betty thought he was hurt about. The photos were just a way to keep his share of the electricity on and enough food for his speedy metabolism in the fridge. He could care less about the photos. But he couldn’t explain that to Betty.

“Thanks Betty,” he muttered. “You know, I think I really need tomorrow night too.”

* * *

“So baby, I tried to make that old stew of Ben’s,” May started, her voice coming from the kitchen while Peter stared at Colby. “But it may have-well, turned into one glob of burnt stew, so how do you feel if we order a pizza?” 

Peter was sitting on the old, worn couch he had grown up on, fingers brushing over the stain from when Ned had made him laugh so hard the grape juice had come out of his nose. He had never been able to completely get it out. He knew he needed to respond, every second going by making it less and less socially acceptable to answer. He tried to get himself to snap out of it, but all he could think of was Jameson’s face when he said that he was a killer.

Part of him wondered if he would have said that knowing that said killer was sitting right in front of him.

“Peter? You okay with pizza?” She popped her head out, looking at him with concern. As shitty as he felt, he would feel worse talking about this with May. He already knew she was going to bring up the conversation he had had with Tony. No need to add fuel to the fire. 

“Yeah, sounds good. Can you get veggie pizza?” May smiled, giving him a thumbs up and pulling her cell phone out of her pocket to order. He could hear her talking, the smooth sound of her voice washing over him again. Meanwhile, Colby stared back at him, clearly pissed that Peter was yet again there for their weekly dinner. Maybe Colby could sense what he had done. 

“Alright, so the pizza will be here in about twenty minutes, so we can just wait and maybe watch some TV,” May suggested, coming over to Peter and plopping down next to him. She curled up on the couch, pulling the old blanket she had been given by his mother for a wedding gift around her. 

His parents, Ben, the people at the ceremony-death seemed to follow him. 

“Sounds good,” he said quietly, handing her the remote. She looked at him cautiously, but turned on some reality show, the volume turned down low. Peter knew she was waiting for him to start talking, but he honestly felt wooden, like the joints in his body made it impossible for his mouth to open and words to come out. He could feel his aunt’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, to act normally. 

Finally, the pizza came, and May shut off the TV, going up to pay and grab some paper plates. He tried offering her his wallet to help pay for some of it, but she pushed it away. He’d have to just Venmo her later, though it was likely she would reject the cash. She came back to the living room with the pizza boxes, putting them on the coffee table and handing him a plate. 

As she served herself from the small Greek pizza she had ordered, Peter found himself looking at his unopened box, the nausea rolling around in his stomach. Killer. He was a killer. How could he eat when the images were burned in his brain? Of all the people who had died on his watch? 

“Alright, I was going to let you bring it up, but to be honest, kiddo, I have a feeling that if I don’t say something, we’re going to be sitting here in silence for the rest of the night. What’s wrong?” May asked, turning to him and putting her pizza down. Peter looked up at her, taking in the details of her face. The warm brown eyes, the little laugh lines around her lips, the bits of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and were framing her face. She looked concerned, concerned for her killer of a nephew. To his shock, the thought made tears well up in his eyes. May deserved better. 

“Oh honey, what happened?” May sighed, moving closer and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. As much as he had wanted to act normally, to not have yet another conversation this week where he spilled his guts out, the warmth in her voice got rid of the filter holding him back, and he spilled about everything. He told her about Jameson, about the killer comment. He brought up what he had seen at the ceremony, the Toomes look-alike (that he wasn’t entirely convinced was just a copycat, but that was for another day). He told her about the anxiety over the past week, how it was making his stomach hurt and bringing the nausea back. He told her about the argument with Tony, how frustrated he was that he still didn't seem to be trusted and how it seemed like they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop. May, in her wonderful way, just sat and listened to him talk, nodding every once in a while to let him know she was listening and keeping that comforting hand on his shoulder. The tears didn’t spill, but they got close, especially when it came to what Jameson had said. When he finally finished, May took a deep breath, and was silent for a few minutes. 

“First off, baby, I larb you, okay? And I do not larb people who are killers. You are  _ not  _ a killer honey. You just aren’t. And if it wouldn’t get you fired, I’d go right over there and punch Jameson myself, lack of superpowers be damned.” Peter let out a small laugh at that, putting his head on his knees and watching his aunt. 

“Alright, secondly, thank you for talking to me Pete. I know it’s hard. I want you to know I believe you. I know you’re not trying to get to the place you were last year. You’ve put in a lot of work to get better, and both Tony and I know that. He overreacted, but if I had seen your vitals, I can empathize a little. I’m still not happy about his reaction, but that’s between him and I.” He wasn’t sure if May had already known about the conversation between him and Tony, since he hadn’t said anything when she came over dinner--though after last year, they had really upped their communication--but he had a feeling that if they had, there was going to be another conversation about it in the near future. 

“You’re so strong, Pete, that sometimes it’s easy to forget how much you’ve seen. You’ve always been such a sweet, kind kid. Ever since you were a baby,” she said, a bittersweet smile on her face. “And I’m sorry that you had to watch another person get hurt, and I’m so proud that through it all you’re still that sweet kid who cares about the little guy.” May was definitely trying to make him cry, it seemed. “You’re right that Tony and I can’t protect you from your anxiety, and no matter what we can’t get rid of all the triggers in the world. I know there’s going to be bad weeks like this one, honey. But sweetheart, please don’t let people like your shitty excuse for a boss and that figure at the ceremony let you feel like you deserve to feel like this. You don’t. You don’t kill people, you save people.” She brushed his hair back, trying to give him a bit of comfort. 

While he trusted his aunt and wanted to believe her words, he couldn’t forget the look of fear that had been on the man’s face before his throat had been torn out. The shock. He had seen that look before. 

“Except for Harry,” he said quietly, and May stopped running her fingers through his hair. 

“Peter,” she started, her voice slow and soft like she was talking to a spooked animal, “that wasn’t your fault. That man didn’t die because of you, you froze because you thought you were seeing the man who made a building collapse on top of you. And honey, Harry wasn’t your fault either. I promise you that. You tried to save him.” 

“I snapped his neck,” Peter whispered, the sound of it going through his mind. Over a year later, and he could still hear exactly what it sounded like. His stomach turned, and he could feel the bile in his throat. 

“Peter, you tried your best to save him. Honey, sometimes-sometimes people die,” she said mournfully. “It’s not on you to save everyone. It’s impossible. But just because you couldn’t save him--that doesn’t mean you killed him, baby. Please believe me about that.” 

He wished he could. He really, really wished he could. But all he could think of when he thought of the man at the ceremony was the same horrified, panicked look in Harry’s eyes when he fell. 

“I can try,” Peter murmured. It wasn’t a lie. He would try, but call him a pessimist, he didn’t really think he’d ever be able to believe it. He took a deep breath, brushing back the tears that had finally spilled over. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the pizza box and opened it, pulling a few of the now lukewarm slices on his plate. “Um. So. How was work?” 

* * *

_ irondad:  _ how was dinner with may?

_ spiderbaby:  _ p good! We ordered veggie pizza

_ irondad:  _ veggie pizza? Bruce would be proud 

_ spiderbaby:  _ not all of us want a cholesterol problem 

_ spiderbaby _ : and u legit snack on blueberries all day let me live

_ irondad:  _ wow, way to be underhanded 

_ irondad:  _ btw, what did u think of may’s gift?

_ spiderbaby:  _ the wood piece? It was awesome

_ irondad:  _ she figured you would like it

_ irondad:  _ you and ben really look alike 

_ spiderbaby:  _ yeah, we got that a lot

_ spiderbaby:  _ so yeah, sorry tony, but once again you’ve lost the competition

_ irondad:  _ that’s not possible, considering you haven’t gotten your gift from me yet

_ spiderbaby:  _ ??????????

_ spiderbaby:  _ you’re telling me the ceremony wasn’t the gift?

_ irondad _ : it was part of it. Gotta show my love for my favorite bugs

_ spiderbaby:  _ arachnids 

_ spiderbaby:  _ wait so i have another gift?

_ irondad:  _ mhm 

_ spiderbaby:  _ so when do i get this extra gift????

_ irondad:  _ a little while, couple of months

_ spiderbaby:  _ MONTHS

_ spiderbaby:  _ WHAT KIND OF GIFT IS THIS

_ irondad:  _ one that’s finally gonna win me the competition 

_ spiderbaby:  _ we’ll see, old man 

Peter put his phone to the side of him, folding his arms on his lap and looking up at the sky. The air was warm, considering it was still August, but there were traces of a breeze coming in, hinting at the beginning of autumn. 

Even though he knew the view up here wasn’t too much better (thanks air pollution), the few stars he could see seemed a little brighter. No one ever came onto the roof of the building, which made it the perfect place for him to think. 

He had come up after coming home from May’s, putting the gift she had made him in his room before climbing up the back of the building to the roof. The wood piece he had gotten a small eyeful of before the ceremony had turned out beautiful, a family photo of the three of them burned carefully into the wood. He had already figured out where he wanted to hang it up on the wall.

Despite the rocky start to dinner, the night had actually helped him feel a little better. Part of him couldn’t believe that he had actually brought up Harry, though it had been nice to hear his aunt’s insistence that he wasn’t the worst person in the world. Not that he completely believed her, but...still. 

It helped. 

He had texted the group chat on his way home, quickly suggesting they hang out the next day. The group chat had exploded excitedly, eager to have their first party night of the semester. Johnny insisted that any party with less than fifty people wasn’t a party, but he was ecstatic about the chance to play a drinking game with Betty again. She may have been a normal human, but her tolerance was impressive. 

Once it had been organized, he had decided it was time for a roof night. He had told the group chat that he was staying over at May’s after grabbing a few blankets and a pillow from his room. Better for them not to ask what the hell he was doing on top of the building. 

No one else knew about the roof nights, except for MJ, thought it wasn’t something that they talked about often. He had started them a few months after the whole breakdown thing, using it as a chance to get away from how worried and frantic his family and friends still were around him. He had understood, knew it was just because they wanted him safe. But the constant hovering had been a lot to handle.

He knew that roofs and him didn’t have the best history. He didn’t expect anyone to understand that. But falling asleep under the stars, hearing the sounds of the city and watching the sunrise? Sometimes, those moments felt like the only times that he was happy after Harry had died. 

Thinking of Harry’s name made him feel almost numb, the hurt was still that powerful. May had told him that things got easier with time, and sure, it had gotten a little better, but it had been over a year and it still felt so painful when Harry was brought up. He was fine if he didn’t think of him, but how could he forget Harry? He almost felt the urge to cry again, but it was under the surface, not really real. That was another reason why he didn’t feel like telling other people about roof nights. 

It was his way to be closer to Harry. 

He took a deep breath, willing the hurt to settle and for his body to be able to relax. After a few moments, his chest felt looser, and the hurt slotted back into the familiar spot in his heart. Things still hurt, but at least he could get through the day now if he didn’t think of Harry. He had started eating normally again, had stopped pushing his friends away. He had gotten his grades back up. He could spend time with his friends without crying about the person missing from the room. He didn’t feel completely emotionless all the time. If anything, he had started to feel more again. For one person, in particular. 

MJ’s smirk flashed in front of his eyes, and he felt his heartbeat slightly pick up. It hadn’t been surprising, really, when he realized that the feelings he had for MJ had evolved from being a best friend to being his best friend and his crush. Though calling her a crush felt too juvenile. MJ made the world make sense. She had always been like that, going through life like she knew with complete certainty who she was and what her path was. She was so sure of herself. Peter had been shocked when she had actually wanted to be friends with him and Ned in high school. MJ wasn’t popular, per se, but she was the kind of girl that made you think of famous novelists and stars and the meaning of life. The fact that she was secretly as awkward as Ned and Peter, with her obsession for horror movies and her inability to roller skate, had made her friendship all the more special.

So no, he hadn’t been surprised when the love he felt for MJ and all of who she was had shifted. If anything, it felt as natural as breathing. It was more natural than anything he had felt since the first time he had kissed Harry. 

After he had died, MJ was there. She didn’t try to fix things, or make him talk. She didn’t treat him like he was fragile or unstable, even after she found out about everything with the eating and his anxiety. MJ was her same, normal, wonderful self. They studied together and watched movies together, and they talked crap about cheap romance novels they would check out from the library to read together. He had even told her about roof nights, and rather than make some remark about it not being safe, she had asked him if it helped. She asked him if the stars were any brighter up there. And then she had told him she wanted to see the Northern lights.

So no, realizing he was in love with MJ was no surprise. But that didn’t mean he was in the space to deal with that. Peter knew he was obvious, was surprised MJ hadn’t called him out on his insanely blatant crush on her yet. His friends would tease him constantly. He knew it had been more than an appropriate amount of time since Harry. 

He knew Harry would want him to be happy. 

But the thing about Peter was that despite what May had tried to tell him, death followed him around. Despite May insisting that Harry’s death wasn’t his fault, only one person had shot the web that broke his boyfriend’s neck. He wasn’t going to put MJ in the same unsafe position. 

His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts, and he looked at the lit up screen. A message from MJ looked back at him.

_ mj <3:  _ if you’re on the roof tonight, make sure you have enough blankets. We don’t want you freezing again.

He smiled at the message, knowing how lovesick he probably looked. He wouldn’t do anything about his crush in real life, would never actually bring it up with MJ, but here on the roof? He would let himself be as head over heels as he wanted to be. 

_ the b stands for bi:  _ that was only once. But yes, i do have enough blankets

_ mj <3:  _ you’re a mess

_ mj <3:  _ still, have a good night. Say hi to harry for me. Love you

_ the b stands for bi:  _ can do. Night, MJ. love you too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 Warnings: Miles makes a joke about not wanting to stay alive and so does Peter, blood, Peter finds a murder victim, disordered eating and discussions about disordered eating, references to the effects of disordered eating, Peter is stabbed

“Come on party people, let’s go crazy!” Johnny yelled, drawing out the ‘y’ in crazy and getting whoops of excitement from their group of friends. Peter smirked, drinking from his soda while his friend quickly set up a game of pong. 

“Try to actually put them far apart this time, Johnny, I actually want a little challenge when I beat your ass tonight,” Gwen drawled, texting someone on her phone and drinking the wine Betty had brought over. She finished her glass, and reached for a cup of vodka before walking away, the scene making Peter's liver hurt. Johnny just put a middle finger up, but to his credit, he did move the cups farther apart. 

So far, the party was in full swing, his friends talking and laughing while they started to get tipsy and eat the snacks Peter had put together earlier in the day. Betty had a huge, relaxed grin on her face as MJ told her all about the kid in her bio lab who had insisted he was going to Brown medical school, but had thrown up during the most recent dissection. Ned and Johnny were filling the pong cups with water, Johnny trying and failing to flirt. Well, at least he _was_ trying, and on anyone else it probably would have been successful, but Peter knew that his best friend was probably writing it off as his being friendly. Gwen had decided to invite Riri, rather than spend the night at her place (which, Peter reminded himself, he needed to give her shit over), and he had decided to invite Harley on a whim. Miles had arrived with his friend Ganke only a few minutes before, and quickly had started to talk with Harley about who would win in a fight between Thor and Spiderman. 

All in all, it was the perfect start to an easy-going night. They hadn’t had a party like this with everyone since the end of last semester, considering that MJ and Gwen had gone abroad and Peter and Miles had to have taken on extra patrols. Speaking of that, he looked to see Miles and Gwen on the couch, talking quietly about something. Peter went over, flopping on the couch between them, and Gwen punched his shoulder. 

“Ah, the Spider-family is complete,” she joked, stretching out and taking a sip of her drink. Peter made a zip-it motion, nodding his head towards Betty. Gwen rolled her eyes, but lowered her voice. “I don’t know why you haven’t told her, honestly. She probably already knows.” 

“She definitely knows,” Miles added, smirking at the annoyed look on Peter’s face. “Listen, Gwen is the best at keeping her identity secret, and that’s not saying much.” He dodged the kick she sent his way, laughing into his solo cup. 

“The two of you suck,” Peter muttered. “What’re you guys up to?” The thing about his powers was that the smallest movements, no matter how fast, were easy for him to pick up on. So the quick glance his two friends shared after he asked that question? Yeah, he didn’t miss it. “With school and stuff? I’ve barely seen you two,” he added, noticing the way Miles slightly relaxed. 

“What’re you talking about? We got lunch together this week,” he smiled, the easy grin on his face again. “Though you were still hungover, so maybe you don’t remember that.” Gwen groaned, no doubt thinking of the vomit session she had had that morning. 

“Haha, very funny. But no dude, I haven’t really seen you this week. You haven’t been in the apartment that much,” he shrugged, his nose picking up on the extreme smell of vodka coming from Gwen’s cup. 

“Tell me about it,” he grumbled. “Barbara has been on my ass the past week about hours. It’s not like I told her that once classes started I’d need to cut my hours for the internship, no. Like I’m sorry, but why do I need to be at the museum at seven pm? No one needs to be in an art museum at seven pm, like get out,” he grumbled. Gwen snorted, rolling her eyes. 

“Welcome to adult life, babes,” she smirked, chugging from her cup. Peter’s liver winced in sympathy. “I know you’re a sweet, young child, but it’s only going to get worse.” 

“Gwen, he’s literally a year younger than us,” Peter said, looking at her with his eyebrows raised. 

“Regardless, I’m not wrong, it _will_ get worse,” she said, her voice matter of fact. 

“Yeah, that really makes me want to stay alive for the rest of my life,” Miles said sarcastically, but then he grimaced, as if realizing what he said and who he said it in front of. Peter loved his friends, he did, but they really needed to stop treating him like he was about to break with one death joke. 

“That’s why I don’t have plans after thirty,” Peter joked, trying to bring the mood back. He used to make jokes and comments like that all the time, but needless to say they hadn’t been as well-received after his freakout last year. Thankfully, it seemed to relax his friends, making Gwen let out that little breath of laughter that meant she found something actually funny. 

“Considering you’re already going gray, that’s fair,” Miles mused, poking at the side of Peter’s head. 

“I am _not_ going gray,” he insisted, trying to ignore the memory of the few strands of gray hair he had found over the summer. “And if I am, it’s just stress. You know what I’d love to talk about? Gwen and Riri, let’s talk about that.” Gwen started cussing him out, trying to put a hand over his mouth, but Peter held her back. When you all had super strength, it was a lot harder to shut each other up. 

“You know what Peter, you’ve got a point? So my little gumdrop Gwen, how’s life in the land of denial?” Miles grinned, watching their friend’s face go red. While Peter hated when his friends gave him shit about MJ, he couldn’t help but admit that it was _very_ entertaining to watch someone else squirm. Sue him, it was nice to not be in the hot seat for once. 

“There’s no land of denial because there’s nothing going on,” Gwen said under her breath, eyes flicking to Riri. She had joined MJ and Betty’s conversation, and was telling a story that made the two girls laugh. 

“So the kiss before you went away this summer was between pals?” Peter asked, looking at her and trying to put an innocent expression on his face. Miles choked on his drink, looking at Gwen in shock.

“Excuse me, did Mr. Peter Bi-Derman Parker say _kiss_? You kissed and you didn’t tell me?” Gwen had a scowl on her face, her ears completely red, but she gave a curt little nod. “What the hell? Since when do you not tell me the juicy gossip, Pete? The s in our names does not stand for secrets!” He exclaimed, crossing his arms and almost spilling his drink in the process. 

“Dude, how many have you had?” Peter asked, looking at him with a mix of amusement and concern. Miles was no lightweight, so for him to be losing coordination this early on was concerning. 

“Only one. But I may have put some of that mead in-” he started, and Gwen stuck her tongue out.

“Do _not_ say that in front of me, or I will puke in your cup,” she warned. “Or Pete will,” she shrugged, ignoring his protests.

“Listen, that was one party, okay? And I’m not even drinking tonight, I’m on patrol,” he explained, crossing his arms. He really didn’t want to go over this memory yet again. 

“Mhm, one party where you drank jungle juice out of a dresser drawer, threw up in a cup, and spent the next day sobering up on bread,” Gwen said, an evil glint in her eyes. Damn. This was payback for the Riri comment. Miles started laughing, and Peter got up, ignoring the calls from his friends to sit back down. He wasn’t really annoyed, but he did want to get some water for the two of them. 

“Pete, come back,” Gwen said, trying to grab the bottom of his shirt. “We love you.” 

“The s in your names actually means shitheads, but I will be getting the two of you some water to sober up,” he scowled, though there was no real menace in the comment. Miles and Gwen high fived, going back to talking about more of Peter’s less than wonderful moments. Maybe he’d just get them cups of ice and tell them to wait, he mused, going to their small kitchen. 

To his surprise, MJ was in there, rifling through their fridge for something. 

“What, the four-course meal I made isn’t up to par?” He joked, grabbing two glasses and filling them up with water. MJ rolled her eyes, closing the fridge once she had found one of the seltzers she kept in there. 

“Goldfish in a paper bowl is fine dining now?” She asked, voice deadpan as she opened the can. He held a hand up to his chest, acting wounded from her words.

“You know where to hit me where it hurts, MJ,” he sighed, pulling himself up to sit on the counter. Screw it, Gwen and Miles could wait, the shitheads. He wanted to talk to MJ. 

“You know you have perfectly good chairs right there, Pete,” MJ smirked, nodding her chin towards the table and set of chairs. 

“I should revoke your bi card for that, woman,” Peter joked, pulling his legs up so he could rest his chin on them. “Are you having a good time? I know it was kind of last minute, but Betty and I really needed a night with the entire group.” 

“Of course I am. The goldfish really pull everything all together. But seriously, it’s nice to have everyone together. I missed it,” she admitted, a sheepish look on her face that he hadn’t seen in over a year. As confident as MJ was, every so often she seemed almost surprised by what her life was, like it was a shock that she was surrounded by a group of people who loved her and wanted to spend time with her. An image of MJ reading alone at the other end of their high school lunch table flashed through his mind. 

“I missed it too,” he said quietly. “I spent so much time at work this summer that I forgot how nice it was to have everyone over. I’m going to miss it next year.” She looked at him strangely, her eyebrow raised as she played with one of her curls.

“And what’s next year, exactly?” 

“We’ll have graduated. Well, not Miles and Ganke, or Riri, but the rest of us will be doing a bunch of different stuff, probably,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “You said it yourself, you loved that med school in DC.” 

“You remember that?” He nodded. He always remembered what MJ told him. “That was like, a year and a half ago. A lot can change,” she pointed out, not looking him in the eyes. 

“That’s true, but I don’t know. Ned is still interested in going to grad school in California, and I know Gwen was thinking of working for a ballet school in Boston. Johnny will probably find a reason to go wherever Ned goes. And then once Miles and Ganke and Riri graduate, who knows? I know Tony wants Riri to work with him permanently, but she told me she wanted to go abroad for a little bit. People have their plans figured out, they know what they’re doing.” 

“And what about you, Peter Parker?” MJ asked, propping her chin up in her hand. “You seem to have forgotten yourself in this list.” 

“Who wants to play TIPSY TWISTER?!” Johnny shouted, his excitement ear-shatteringly audible. Peter snorted, thankful for his friend’s ability to defuse the seriousness of any moment.

“To be honest, I hadn’t planned that far ahead,” he said, hoping MJ wouldn’t be able to tell that he was lying. He and Harry had talked about the possibility of their going to grad programs in the same city, had even taken the GRE together and started looking at schools. But once he was gone-well, it didn’t really seem right to even think about that future anymore. “To be honest, I can’t imagine myself not swinging around the city.” That _was_ true. Even when Harry had been alive and talking about them moving, Peter hadn’t really been able to picture himself outside of New York. 

“Well,” MJ started, her voice almost...hesitant? “You don’t know what next year will look like. Maybe we’ll all stay close to home. Or you could look at grad schools on the West coast. Since it seems like a lot of us are interested in going there. If you wanted.” 

“Maybe. I’d have to talk to May. I wouldn’t want to leave her behind,” Peter mused, wondering what could have possibly changed MJ’s mind. Sure, she had looked at other med schools already, but she had fallen in love with the DC program last year. He was about to ask, when his phone went off, beeping loudly. Fuck. The drone had spotted something. 

MJ’s eyes flicked to his phone, a knowing look on her face. 

“Patrol time?” He sighed, heaving himself off the counter and opening the kitchen window. He grabbed his backpack, hidden cleverly in the cupboard under the sink so Betty wouldn’t see it, and pulled it on. 

“Unfortunately. Hopefully, it’s just a cat in a tree,” he said, a tight grin on his face. Even though he knew it was his job, he really didn’t feel in the mood after the week he had had to deal with something extreme. “Have fun, let me know if Johnny finally confesses his feelings.” 

“My money is on Ned breaking first, but regardless, be safe out there,” she said, giving him a quick wave goodbye as he slipped out the window. Duty calls. 

The night was slightly warmer than the one before, thought Peter couldn’t help but wonder if that was because he wasn’t on top of a roof and had been around a bunch of warm, tipsy people, wearing his suit under his clothes. He quickly climbed down the wall, ducking behind the dumpster of their building to make sure no one had seen him. After a few minutes, he headed out, checking his phone to see where the drone had found trouble. The hair stood up on the back of his neck when he realized where he was being led-tt was only about ten miles away. 

God, he really, _really_ hoped it was a cat stuck in a tree.

After walking a mile, he ducked behind a few buildings, quickly taking his clothes off and putting them into the backpack. After pulling on his mask, he webbed up the bag behind their trash cans, and climbed onto the top of the building, Karen’s voice greeting him. 

“Hello, Peter. Your vitals are looking good today. Am I in danger of being burned again?” If Peter wasn’t wrong, the AI sounded slightly annoyed. 

“Sorry, Karen, seriously. But Tony made the suit stronger, so if Johnny was ever wearing it again, it wouldn’t burn. Well, probably. Plankton noted something about nine miles from here, can you sense anything?” 

“I will check in with them, one moment, Peter.” Without really being aware of it, he held his breath. He wasn’t really sure _why_ he was suddenly so full of nerves. He had done thousands of patrols, had had to leave parties and hanging out with his friends before. There had been crime in the area before, hell, there was crime everywhere in the state. But this felt different. 

It had been quiet, ever since the ceremony. Well, at least for him. Miles and Gwen had to deal with the usual stuff, a few muggings, some burglaries, a police chase. The usual stuff. But his patrols had been abnormally peaceful. Part of him couldn’t help but think of the ceremony, and the figure. The Toomes who Tony and May insisted wasn’t Toomes. It was odd, really, for nothing else to happen after something so horrific had occurred. He had been compartmentalizing, trying to get through what had happened, but really, the city was understandably still reeling. Weird shit happened in New York all the time, but smoke bombs and people murdered in plain sight? And then no follow up crime? 

Yeah, that didn’t happen. People didn’t forget about stuff like that. Not people like the figure. 

“Peter? Peter, are you listening?” Peter cleared his head, realizing that he must have been blanking out while Karen was trying to catch his attention. His hands were gripping the bricks of the building so hard he was afraid they would crumble. He really needed to start using some of those strategies for his anxiety that therapist had recommended. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry Karen. I zoned off, what did Plankton see?” Karen didn’t answer right away, and his heart dropped. 

“Peter, there...there is a body,” she said carefully, her voice so human it almost made his head reel. “If I remember correctly, from my conversation with F.R.I.D.A.Y., the individual appears to have died in the same way as the people at the Spider-Team’s ceremony. I am determining their identity. Their name-”

“I’m going, what’s the exact address?” Peter said, already swinging towards the vague location the drone had sent to his phone. 

“Peter, perhaps it would be best for me to call Mr. Stark about this,” Karen suggested, and Peter scowled.

“I can handle a dead body, Karen. Unfortunately, I’ve seen them before. They shouldn’t have to wait for Tony to come down. I don’t want them to be alone,” Peter added on, thoughts of light blue eyes in his mind. Karen was silent again, but then rattled off the address. 

“Her name was Elizabeth Avila,” she said, once they were within a mile of the location. “Shall I call the authorities now?” 

“Yeah, that would probably be good,” Peter murmured, stopping once he saw the alleyway he had been led to. It was dark, and he climbed down the side of the wall, looking for the woman. As if he was underwater, he could hear Karen tell him she had called the police, and that they were on their way with EMTs and an ambulance.

It took only a few seconds for him to find her. She wouldn’t need an ambulance, he thought darkly, considering that was left of her throat seemed to have stopped losing blood. She had probably died within minutes. She was slumped against the wall, sitting on the ground with no shoes on. Peter leaned forward, noting that she had something in her hand, the grip loose. It was a piece of paper, splattered with blood, and he picked it up, a horrible feeling in his stomach. 

As if he was underwater, the sirens starting to blare and come to the location, he read the words on the piece of paper, over and over again:

_Hi Peter._

* * *

“And I already have my next project due. Like, it should still be syllabus week, what the hell? Do they not realize that I’m also trying to get in all my applications too? It’s so frustrating,” Ned vented, having come from his lab flustered. MJ nodded her head, listening as she highlighted something in her textbook. “Ugh, are the chem labs this bad, Peter? Because seriously, maybe I’ll switch my major,” he joked. Peter said nothing, shrugging as he looked at the uneaten breakfast sandwich he had bought over an hour ago. He had been hungry, but the egg yolk was runny, and mixed with the red hot sauce, it looked almost like blood. 

“You good, Peter?” Peter dug his nails into his palms, thinking of the piece of paper that was currently in his jean pocket.

“I didn’t get much sleep this weekend,” he muttered. MJ and Ned shared a look, which frankly pissed him off. He was literally right there, he could very much see their expression. “I’m tired, not oblivious, you know,” he snapped, feeling bad when a flash of hurt appeared on Ned’s face. 

“We’re just worried, Peter. I know this is your job, but it’s not easy to see a dead person, dude. That stuff weighs on you,” Ned said after a few moments, leaning forward slightly. “Especially after the shitshow that was the ceremony, and everything last year.” 

“Everything with Harry, you mean,” Peter remarked, pulling his hoodie up over his messy, unwashed hair. “I’m not going to have a meltdown if I hear his name. I know that’s why all of you are walking on eggshells around me.” Peter heard Ned take a deep breath, taking a moment before answering. 

“Well, Peter, it’s clearly bothering you. Enough for you to be snappy with us. I worry about you Peter. Not just because of Harry. Because twice in the past month you’ve been in two situations where people died in a very similar way.” Ned was staring at him, his face steady. “I mean yeah, obviously I worry how you’re handling it, but I’m also worried about your safety. Don’t you think it's weird that you’ve been in two situations where this has happened?” After a few moments, Peter nodded his head slowly, sighing and taking the note out of his pocket.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s not your fault, I need to sleep.” 

“And eat something,” MJ noted, still looking at her textbook, but her eyes weren’t scanning the page. She was listening to them. Peter ignored the comment, the idea of eating that bloody, cold breakfast sandwich making him want to throw up. 

“When we were at the ceremony, when I ran off, I saw something. Well, more I actually saw someone, ah. Get murdered. Not just bodies.” 

“Holy shit, Peter,” Ned cursed, and both he and MJ were staring at him now, their eyes wide with shock. Maybe it wasn’t the best move just spilling everything by ripping off the bandaid, but they needed the backstory to understand the note. 

“I didn’t see who did it exactly. I mean, I did, they were killed by this figure with wings,but they were completely covered up. But they had wings, mechanical wings. And it watched me, after it killed him. I thought it was weird, that they didn’t run away as soon as they saw me, but they took the time to kill someone. And then Saturday-when I found that victim. She was holding something.” He held out the note, Ned grimacing when he saw the splatters of dried blood on it. MJ took it, holding it up and reading it quietly out loud. 

“‘Hi Peter.’ Nothing else? Could you see anything at the scene?” MJ asked, looking up at him. Peter shook his head, taking the note back from her outstretched hand. 

“Nothing that I could see, I think she died there. That’s where all the blood was located, no trail. But if that was the case, if it was more than just--a body dump,” he frowned, “I just don’t understand why there was no sign of a struggle. Not even in terms of fighting back, because I don’t think she even got the chance to do that. But I mean, it didn’t even look like anyone had been in the alley for a while. The most recent newspaper I saw in the trash was from April.” Ned looked a little green around his neck, but he stayed at their small table. 

“They could find something when they do the autopsy,” MJ suggested. 

“That doesn’t mean much, though, if they don’t have the person’s DNA in any system,” Peter said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He had thought this through last night, trying to go over all the details over what he had seen. It wasn’t a good time, considering how gruesome the scene had been. After a few moments, Ned spoke up again.

“Clearly, though, they know who you are, Pete. They wanted you to find that body this weekend. Do you have any idea who it might be?” Peter hesitated, but if anyone would believe him, it was Ned and MJ. Right?

“I know it sounds crazy, but, I think Adrian Toomes might have something to do with it.”

“Could he have escaped, and it was covered up?” Ned asked, and Peter wanted to shout with relief. Ned and MJ were his closest friends, but he understood the doubt. Tony himself had security on the man, sneaking out wouldn’t be easy. 

“I thought something like that, but Tony told me he has constant security on him.”

“Pretty sure that’s a violation of his rights,” MJ snorted, “though considering he dropped a building on you, I can’t say that I have that much sympathy for him.” 

“Maybe it’s someone who worked with him? They could have had access to some of his tools?” Ned suggested. 

“Maybe, I guess. I don’t know, I know it sounds impossible. I know he’s in jail but, I don’t know guys. I really think it was him,” Peter admitted. 

“Well, from now on, Pete, I think it would be best if you tried to stick with one of us at one time. You need to be safe,” Ned pointed out. 

“If he’s not above killing innocent people, he’s not above killing us if we’re trying to be pseudo-bodyguards, Ned. Peter-I think you might really be in danger,” MJ said seriously, her words entirely too chilling.

* * *

“Alright everyone, you know what time it is,” Gwen smirked, launching herself onto the couch with one of Ned’s hats in her hand. “Hear ye, hear ye, it is time for ye old picking of the shifts,” she said, putting on a fake British accent. May I have the name slips?” 

Miles was staring at her incredulously, the pieces of paper in his hand. 

“Gwen, I mean this with _full_ disrespect, I genuinely don’t know what the hell Riri sees in you,” he said, dumbfounded as he put the names in the fedora. Gwen glared at him, shaking the hat to mix up the names. 

“You are a ye old buzzkill, Miles,” she said, rolling her eyes and picking the first name out of the hat. “Oh, it’s me, isn’t that nice?” 

“Looks like someone is a ye olde cheater,” Peter muttered under his breath, making Miles burst out laughing. “Doesn’t anyone else think it’s weird that you’ve picked your name first for the past three patrol picking nights?” Ned and MJ shrugged, but Johnny decided to speak up.

“I, for one, think it’s just the universe treating the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world with the respect she deserves,” he said, batting his eyelashes at her. 

“I agree, but that’s not going to make up for you throwing up in my shoes last weekend,” Gwen said matter of factly. God, Johnny needed to stop doing that. “Alright, so I’ll take…..hm, I’ll take the eighth, I think.” Johnny noted it on the big whiteboard calendar they kept in the kitchen. 

“You really need to find a new place for that, by the way. Betty was wondering why you guys had a cleaning schedule with Gwen’s name on it,” MJ said casually. “Might be easier to just, I don’t know, tell her that the three of you are all superheroes?” 

“One, no. If she doesn’t know who we are, then she’ll stay safe. Two, she really thought Gwen knew how to clean things?” Peter asked, faking a look of shock. He ducked from the spoon that Gwen threw at his head, ignoring the clattering it made when it hit the floor. 

Patrol picking usually went like this, with the three of them (read: Gwen) bickering over which dates they wanted to cover for each month. It helped spread out the work, so that the city would always have a spider on hand. They did it the first of each month, with the last person to pull from the hat covering that day. They went in order, but like Peter had noted, Gwen had escaped from first of the month patrols the last few times. And considering his Parker luck, he had been chosen the last few times, rather than Miles. It’s not that patrol was particularly hard on the first, but he really didn’t feel like doing it today, not after the past few weeks he had had. 

Since finding the body of Elizabeth Avila, three more bodies had been found. Even worse, they had all happened during his patrols. (And then add on the fact that college was in full swing and Jameson was still on his ass, he was exhausted.) The newspapers had been in an uproar, talking about a potential serial killer. To be honest, Peter had a feeling they might be right. If he was on patrol today, he had a feeling it would happen again. 

So yeah, excuse him for not wanting to find a dead body today. 

“Okay, the next person choosing is, dun dun dun, Miles!” Gwen called out, looking up at him expectantly. Miles squinted at the calendar, clearly deep in thought.

“I guess I’ll go with the nineteenth,” he finally decided, and Johnny put it on the board. “You next, Pete.” 

“Okay, I’ll take the seventh,” Pete said, giving Johnny a thumbs up. 

Usually, patrol didn’t take too long, but that night it seemed faster than normal, like Gwen and MJ were trying to rush through it. He wasn’t sure how they managed it, but they ended up taking the days from the second to the sixth without him even realizing it. He knew the two of them were just as busy as him, and it seemed almost like they were trying to prevent him from taking a patrol for that week. Kind of ridiculous, considering he would have to be on that night. 

Once Johnny finished filling out the last square on the calendar, Peter sighed, getting up and stretching so that his joints popped. He went over to the stove, digging through the cabinets for some easy-mac to make before he went on shift.

“Do you guys want any? I’ll make a big pot,” he asked, listening to the majority of the group say yes, loudly.

“I’m good, Pete, Jordan is picking me up for dinner,” Ned said casually, not looking up from his phone as he scrolled through Twitter. Peter looked at Johnny from the corner of his eye, noticing the sour look that had appeared on his face. He sat down next to Ned, scooting his chair closer.

“So, where are you two going? And on a Tuesday, no less? Kind of weird to go out on a school night, don’t you think?” Peter wanted to hit his head against the cabinet; Johnny had spent too long being attractive and getting what he wanted to know how to play off being sneaky effectively. He couldn’t see what was going on, but he frankly wasn’t sure if he _wanted_ to see the hot messes behind him.

“Johnny, lest we forget the many times you’ve offered to let me take a body shot off of you on weeknights. And for your information, nosebag,” Ned said, a teasing sound to his voice, “we’re just getting dinner together at Kenny’s.” 

“As in the Kenny’s I showed you to? Our Kenny’s? _The_ Kenny’s?” Uh-oh. Johnny more than lived up to his name when it came to being a hothead, and Peter spun around, trying to deescalate the situation before Johnny started acting like a pissy, jealous baby. 

“Are you sure you don’t want mac and cheese Ned? It’ll be done soon, I have to go on patrol, and you mentioned he was picking you up at eight?” Ned looked from Johnny to Peter oddly, but shook his head.

“Nah, I’m good dude. You know Kenny’s has really good cheese fries, I don’t want to ruin my palette with Kraft powder,” he joked. “But you know, I think I’ll get ready before this one cries from his ‘I liked it before it was cool’ complex.” He rolled his eyes at Johnny, still scrolling through Twitter as he left the room. 

“Johnny, if you’re going for subtle, that’s just not it,” Gwen snorted, digging through their fridge for something to drink. “Also, who finished off the apple juice? You know that’s my favorite.” 

“One of the people who actually pays for the groceries in that fridge, freeloader,” Miles retorted, before going to grab bowls. “By the way, Pete, would you mind switching tonight with me for the twenty-first? I just checked my phone and realized I have work that day.” He said it so casually that if Peter _wasn’t_ an anxious, paranoid ball of chaos he probably would have believed him, but if he switched with Miles, that would mean he had a full week off from patrol.

“Sorry dude, I can’t. I have an exam that day,” Peter said, trying to sound like he genuinely felt bad about it. It wasn’t technically a lie, or at least, he didn’t think so. He was fairly certain that one of his classes had an exam that day, but considering he had spent most of his time in class thinking about the list of deaths that was quickly getting longer, suffice it to say he wasn’t exactly on his A-game. 

Miles frowned, but didn’t say anything else. Not to Gwen, either, to ask her if she could switch, which was even weirder and even more proof that he had been right. They _had_ been trying to keep him from patrol this week. 

Maybe the two of them were starting to realize that where Peter went, death followed. 

* * *

Peter walked through the aisles, the squeaking of the shopping cart making him wince every time he had to turn. He had drawn the short straw that week and had to do the grocery shopping, one of his absolute least favorite tasks. Considering that his week was free from patrolling though, he felt bad about the complaining. It was just that supermarkets were basically designed to push his senses up to eleven, what with how many people there were, the sound of music coming out from tinny speakers, the smell of fresh and rotting food, and the feeling of too many bodies in one spot. 

God, he felt like shit. 

Thankfully, his patrol on Tuesday hadn’t included finding a body, but that didn’t mean that he felt any better. Gwen and Miles had normal patrols, but that didn’t mean that this killer was suddenly done and had decided to change their behavior. If anything, it just felt more like they were waiting for Peter to be patrolling to strike again. 

As a result, the waiting had made his anxiety gone haywire, keeping him awake at night and turning his stomach from anything more than the peanut butter crackers that he loved so much. Thankfully, he was able to get those down, but the lack of real nutrition to his overly fast metabolism had already caused him to lose a few pounds. When he had looked at himself in the bathroom mirror that day, he looked pale and pinched, which had spelled trouble for him when he had gone to see May yesterday. 

Betty hadn’t said anything when he showed up at work, though from the frown on her face he figured she had noticed his less than ideal appearance right now. But May? She had taken one look at him and instantly had pulled out the heartiest cans of soup she had in her pantry, sitting him down at the table and not letting him help her. As he stared at the bananas in front of him, her words ran through her mind.

_“Peter, honey, you’re looking thinner. I know you said you were fine, that you were just stressed. But Pete, I’m starting to get worried again, when was the last time you ate? C’mon, I have some grocery store coupons you can have, get some of the pricey stuff so you can treat yourself. Soup’s done, let me get you a bowl.”_

The coupons were in his pocket, crumpled along with some gum and his phone. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat. It wasn’t like last year, where he felt so sad and horrible that eating didn’t really seem to matter. That had everything to do with what happened with Harry. But when he thought about eating now, all he could think of was blood and waiting and the sound of a snapped neck-

Okay, maybe this still sort of had to do with Harry. 

Overwhelmingly, though, it was about what was going on. Peter had learned a long, long time ago that he had a responsibility to keep people safe, to protect the people who couldn’t be protected. What kind of a superhero was he if he didn’t do everything in his power, including using his free time, to try and figure out what the hell was going on? He knew in the long run, this kind of treatment of his body, running on fumes and not letting himself sleep was setting himself up for failure, but he wasn’t at a critical point yet. No passing out, no hair falling out of his head. He’d take a step back if it got to that point, but hopefully he would figure out who this was before it got that bad again. 

He looked down at the list, noting that Johnny had asked him to get some ground beef for a recipe he wanted to try that week. Before he headed to the meat section though, he grabbed a pomegranate, not looking at the price tag. May had a coupon for two dollars off a specialty fruit, and you know what, he was going to use the damn thing. 

He went to the meat section, his nose flaring up at the smell. He knew realistically that the smell of the meat was most likely no stronger than usual, and that the state of his body right now was making his senses go haywire, but it still smelled awful. He looked quickly for what Johnny wanted, trying to find one that would be lean enough for his requirements. Johnny never really seemed to have to budget, and could always afford the leanest, cleanest cut of meat. As he was looking, he felt something drip on his hand, and looked over to find one of the packages on the shelf had a small rip in the packaging. 

“Ugh, nasty,” he muttered, moving to brush his hand off against his pants, but he noticed that the liquid coating his hand was red. His stomach flipped. He knew logically that it wasn’t blood, but was actually myoglobin, but the emotional, incredibly anxious, ready to react to anything part of his brain couldn’t appreciate the difference right now. 

He grabbed a random package, not giving a damn if that was what Johnny wanted. His friend would have to deal with it. 

* * *

Okay, so he was starting to get back to that bad point. 

There were moments in Peter’s life when the world seemed to stop, and he could think back to all the moments leading him to where he was at that very second. 

When it came to this moment, about to be stabbed in the stomach, that the world stopped. He had gone on patrol distracted, which was never a good thing. In his defense, the distraction was valid but no less his own doing. 

Even though it was only the second week of September, and felt like they should still be slowly adjusting from break, they had been in classes for about a month, which meant they were full scheme ahead. And Peter, unfortunately, was not full scheme ahead. Hell, he was barely moving. 

It hasn’t seemed so bad at first. He had skipped the first few homework assignments, hadn’t done the readings. But with his sleeping and eating schedule quickly crossing the line from concerning to “Time for Karen to call Tony and May,” it had been hard to pay attention when he managed to show up to class. Hell, it was hard to even stay awake. He had skipped two of his classes last week, which had ended up majorly screwing him over, because he had taken an exam a few days ago and gotten his results back today. The big red nineteen had glared back at him, taunting him with its brightness. 

So yeah, he had gone on patrol distracted and with only fruit snacks in his stomach. In his defense, they had natural fruit juices. 

He had helped someone who had gotten into a car crash earlier in the night and stopped a robbery at a grocery store in Manhattan, but other than that the night had been somewhat quiet. Peter had a feeling that a body would pop up, but waiting around for one to be found wouldn’t be productive, especially because the murders happened too fast for even Karen to let him know they were happening. He had taken it on himself to not waste time and had been visiting the same alleyway where he had found Elizabeth’s body. It had already been poured over for any evidence, the crime scene tape long since trampled on. Still, he went back, looking for what felt like an invisible needle in a haystack. 

The autopsies had revealed nothing, which frankly Peter had been expecting. He knew it had surprised MJ, who couldn’t understand how someone who bit the throats out of their victims wouldn’t leave any traceable saliva. It wasn’t that they found saliva from someone who wasn’t in the system, the evidence literally just wasn’t there. But someone who could stage an elaborate bombing and murder a bunch of people, and then commit more brutal murders and leave the alleys they dumped their victims in looking spotless--it made sense that things weren’t making sense. 

There was very little the authorities could do, though even if the answer was right in front of them, Peter was sure they wouldn’t be able to figure it out. Elizabeth, like the other victims, had died senseless deaths. They had led different lives, with different occupations, genders, racial identities, ages. There was literally no crossover. If anything, they seemed to be victims of opportunity. 

Peter had heard from Eddie at work that the police were ruling Elizabeth’s murder as a crime of opportunity. They were theorizing that the killer had seen her and decided to attack, probably when she was out and about. But if that was the case, it left one blaring question. Where were her shoes? Sure, the killer could have taken them, but Peter had a feeling in his gut that that simply wasn’t the case. He had a feeling that she had died somewhere else, and the DNA could have been destroyed before she was moved. The shoes must have stayed at the scene. 

But he had no proof of that, other than a gut feeling. 

So he had gone back to the alleyway, looking for a shoelace, a strand of hair, anything. He hadn’t heard the man coming up behind him, partially because he was so focused, but partially because the lack of sleep and nutrition was once again rearing its ugly head. 

So in that moment, when the angry man was thrusting his knife towards his stomach, Peter thought of the exam he had failed, the shoes, the annoyed look on Johnny’s face when he saw all the fat on the ground beef. Where, exactly, could he have gone down a different path and prevented the incoming trauma to his organs? 

Once the knife goes through him, though, he’s brought back to the present, the tear of his flash having him gasp in agony. 

“What kind of hero are you? Skulking around where she died, you could have protected her,” the man yelled. Peter hadn’t gotten a great look at him in the seconds before being impaled, but he had looked, in the shadows, similar to Elizabeth. A brother maybe, or a cousin? Maybe an uncle? 

It didn’t really matter, because the man ripped the knife out, eyes welling up once he saw the blood. For all the anger he had, he wasn’t cut out to be a killer. He gagged, holding a hand up to his mouth and running away, dropping the knife. 

All in all, it was a fairly anti-climactic moment, but Peter figured that was more likely due to shock and his unfortunate familiarness with being stabbed on the job. It still hurt like a bitch every time, though. 

“Peter? You are losing blood at an exponential rate, put pressure on the wound while I call Mr. Stark,” Karen advised, her calm voice strong and insistent. Peter huffed, tasting a bit of blood behind his teeth. 

“It’s fine, Karen. I’ll take care of it,” he said, clamping his hand down against the wound and trying to stand up tall. 

“Peter, I _insist_ that Mr. Stark knows about this. You are already losing too much blood, it isn’t safe for you to take care of this yourself.” The AI’s voice was getting high and fast, a sure sign that Peter was stressing her out. She sounded so human, sometimes Peter forgot he wasn’t putting a real human through the emotional ringer. 

“I’m not going to take care of it _myself_ , I’m going to go see Tony. I just don’t need him to come all the way to the Bronx when I could just swing over. I don’t want to take up more time than I’m already going to have to.” He explained. If Tony was called over, he would freak out and probably tell May he didn’t think it was a good idea for him to patrol. If he swung over, it might give his body a little time to heal so that it wouldn’t be too big of a deal. 

_Mhm, or you’ll bleed out beforehand since you’re not eating enough for your metabolism to heal you. You need to let Tony help,_ a voice inside his head said. It sounded, far, far too much like Harry. Yeah, no way was he going to wait around for Tony when his conscience started to sound like his dead boyfriend. The last time his conscience had taken on Harry’s voice, he had been screaming with Tony on the top of a building. He wasn’t going to let it happen again. 

“Peter, it would take very little time-” Peter pulled his hand away from the wound, feeling oddly numb when the blood on his hands dripped down. Funny how he couldn’t handle being in the supermarket and seeing a bit of red meat, but his own blood after a stab wound? That was no problem. He started climbing, listening to Karen strongly advise him to let her call Mr. Stark before the state of his vitals forced her to do so without her permission. Damn Training Wheel Protocols. 

He started swinging, the pain majorly slowing him down. It was fiery, shooting all up his body as he twisted himself forward. The blood continued to trickle down, not healing at all, and he started to think that he should have tried to find at least a cloth to place in front of the wound. Though, considering he was in an alley at a former crime scene and all that was there was garbage, maybe that wouldn’t have been for the best. 

The pain was bad, awful, but it kept his mind focused on one thing only, get to Tony. There were no interruptions from that stupid voice in the back of his head, because all he could focus on was not throwing up from the bloody taste in his mouth hundreds of feet up in the air. 

Somehow, he made it to the Tower, the front of his uniform fully soaked from his blood. It was warm and wet, making the uniform stick to his skin, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he had dripped blood from home all the way here. He considered climbing straight up to the Penthouse, but as much as the adrenaline had done, bringing him here, it was slowly running out. He had never gone through the front doors of the building in full uniform, but thankfully the only person there would be the nighttime security guard. And, of course, F.R.I.D.A.Y. 

He went up to the front door, pulling off his glove and holding his hand up the sensor. Dimly, he noticed the blood that had gathered under his fingernails as the scan finished and the doors opened. 

The security guard there looked up in confusion, and then panic as Peter stumbled in, the blood loss finally getting to him once the adrenaline started to leave his body. 

“Spiderman, I am currently bringing Boss downstairs from the MedBay, please sit down,” came F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's voice, and he furrowed his eyebrows. Hadn’t he asked Karen not to tell Tony? He did follow her request though; the ground seemed more comfortable right now. “I could more than assess from your appearance that Boss’s presence was necessary, though it was well within Karen’s protocols to call me when she did.” Holy shit, he didn’t even realize he had asked that out loud. When had Karen actually called F.R.I.D.A.Y., too? 

“Pet-Spiderman!” Peter groggily looked up from where he was sitting on the ground to see Tony’s blurry figure running towards him. He gave him a thumbs-up, and then everything went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 Warnings: Discussions of Peter's stab wound, discussions of Peter's disordered eating, another murder happens, police/detectives are briefly in this chapter,

Peter woke up in the Med-Bay, the sound of beeping filling his ears as he blinked and tried to clear the sleep from his eyes. 

“Oh, he lives,” came a tired, strained voice. Peter turned his head towards the location of the voice, and was greeted with the presence of an exhausted looking Tony, sitting in a chair next to his bed. He was in pajamas, wearing one of Rhodey’s hoodies and the well-loved Hulk pajamas Peter had gotten him for his birthday a few years back. 

“It would seem like that,” Peter said, voice croaky. “Do you have any water?” Tony wordlessly handed him a cup, and Peter started gulping it down. 

“Hey, not too fast, okay? Though, you should know that considering you’ve woken up like this before,” he grimaced. “This is what, the fifth or sixth time you’ve been stabbed on patrol?” Peter stopped, thinking for a moment.

“I think the sixth. But the person who did it really seemed to be going through it, so.” Tony rubbed his face at that, sighing before helping Peter sit up. “Did anybody get hurt last night?” Tony stared at him, but finally nodded. Fuck. “Who was it?”

“Peter-” 

“Tony, just tell me who.” 

“A brother of one of the victims who was killed recently. Something Avila, I’m not sure. They found his body early this morning,” he said, trying to keep his voice matter of fact. Peter was quiet for a moment, and then moved quickly, punching the wall behind him. He felt a yank of pain as the IV fell out, and Tony got up quickly, trying to stop the bleeding. He fussed over him for a few moments, setting up a new IV once he was able to stop him from spurting blood.

“You, Spider-Baby, are the definition of a mess. And I thought Rhodey had his hands full in college,” he muttered. Peter winced at that; he knew Tony didn’t mean it too negatively, but he didn’t like the idea of being a handful that Tony was forced to take care of. He  _ hated  _ being a burden. Tony didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, and kept on talking. “Now you and I, pal, are going to have a little talk before your aunt comes back from getting breakfast with Rhodey.” 

“You called May?” Peter asked, his voice defensive. “You couldn’t have waited until I woke up and let me do it?” Tony shot him a look, eyebrows raised in a way that mean he was not in the mood for this all.

“Considering you were busy bleeding out on my floor, Pete, I figured it would be best if I took the initiative. So. Time for us to get a little chat in. Can you explain to me why you didn’t have Karen call me to come and pick you up, and why I got that call while you were in midair, once again, bleeding out as you did so?” Tony sat back in his own chair, taking a sip from a cup of coffee next to him. If Peter knew his mentor at all, he had probably let it get cold while waiting for him to wake up. 

“You’re probably not going to like the answer,” Peter warned. Incorrect, he  _ knew  _ Tony wasn’t going to be happy with what he had to say. 

“Try me, kid. Because to be honest, what I like least is you getting a severe injury and trying to get here on your own. When your body wasn’t healing. Mhm, I know about that,” he said pointedly. Peter sighed, but he knew there was no way he was getting out of this conversation.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he said, watching the way Tony’s eyes widened and mouth slightly dropped. If he wasn’t in this situation, was instead a bug on the wall, he might find the reaction a little comical. As it was, he was an arachnid in a medical bed, and it was very much not enjoyable to watch.

“Peter, can you tell me how sitting and waiting for me to pick you up like a good little Spider-Baby is less bothersome than Karen calling me while I’m asleep and telling me you’re suffering from severe blood loss, but that against her orders you were swinging to the Tower anyway?” Peter shrugged, again trying to avoid the flash of hurt he felt at the bothersome comment. He knew Tony was just trying to point out the flaw in his logic-which he was more than well aware of, thank you very much-but the way he phrased it, it still sounded like he had bothered his mentor. 

“I didn’t want you to have to come and save me. I wanted to show you that I could take care of myself,” Peter weakly argued. Again, he was  _ very  _ much aware that his thinking had been less than logical, but considering he had been stabbed in the gut, he figured he deserved to be cut a little slack. “All of you have been worried about me since the ceremony. Hell, even before that. Pretty sure Gwen and Miles were trying to keep me from patrolling last week, and May even gave me coupons to the grocery store so I could go get food. I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is going on, because I know you think it’s not Toomes out there, but Tony, he’s clearly doing this to make a point. To me.” Tony looked at him, his eyes flicking all over his face as if he was searching for something. 

“Okay, what’s been happening with that, then? Why do you think this person is trying to get to you?” Tony asked, and if it wasn’t for the still-healing wound in his stomach, he would have cheered. He knew Tony and he were still going to have a conversation about the whole “everyone is worried about me and it’s because I’m really not taking care of myself thing,” but for now they could focus on what was important. Peter quickly filled him in, trying to ignore the panic on Tony’s face when he told him about the note. 

“Holy shit, Peter. Who else knows about this?” Tony asked, pulling out his phone and tapping frantically at it, no doubt to up the security measures he had in place for his apartment. 

“Just MJ and Ned. I haven’t told Miles and Gwen yet,” he said, shrugging and playing with the sheets on the bed. Why were Med-Bay sheets always so scratchy?

“Is there a reason for that?” Peter was quiet for a few moments before nodding.

“I know you think it’s crazy, but Tony, I really think Toomes has something to do with this. I know it's impossible, but someone being able to do all this and not get caught yet? That seems impossible too. But if I told Miles and Gwen that, then they’d make the same face you’re making now, the ‘I think Peter is losing it again, we better suspend him from Spiderman until he gets his shit together’ look,” he said hotly, looking Tony straight in the eye. “I know everyone seems to think that I’m doing the same stuff I was last year because of all the people who’ve been dying, Tony, but I’m just trying to figure this out, because it seems no one else is.” 

“Well-clearly, from this note, you’re not losing it. This person clearly is trying to communicate with you, which I’m not happy about. You can’t be paranoid about something that’s happening.” He paused for a second, thinking. “This most recent murder,” Tony said slowly, “the word responsibility was written on the victim’s face in marker. Does that mean anything to you?” 

Peter blanched, the words of his uncle ringing in his ears. 

“Okay, I’m going to take that as a yes, okay? We don’t have to talk about it right now. Alright? Okay, good,” he said, trying to calm Peter down when his heart rate spiked on the monitor. “But look, kid. It’s not Toomes, Peter, I promise. I did look into him once you brought it up, but he really has just been spending his time in prison, bitching to everyone who will listen how awful I am,” Tony joked. Then his face got serious. “But Peter-I know you say you’re trying to just figure this all out, but that doesn’t mean that how you’re handling it is...well, the best for you,” Tony said, clearly trying to choose his words wisely. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asked, crossing his arms. He knew the move was defensive, and he knew playing dumb wouldn’t get him anywhere. 

“Peter. You said everyone is worried about you and that May gave you coupons. You realize why, right? No offense, but you look like shit, kid. You’re pale, you’ve lost almost ten pounds since I last saw you. They had to give you a huge dose of fluids to make up for the blood and nutrients you lost. Which, by the way, is why you weren’t healing right. You know that if you’re not eating, your body can’t heal itself. You realize this, right Peter?” He looked at Peter, waiting for a response. 

“I’m...aware, yes,” Peter answered, his cheeks warm from the embarrassment. 

“Okay, so you’re aware that your body isn’t doing too hot right now. Have you been eating? Sleeping?” 

“Not really, no. For either of them,” Peter admitted. “I’m trying Tony, seriously. It’s not like last year, I’m not sad. I’m just worried. I’m anxious, I can’t fall asleep or keep food down when I know there’s someone out there killing people just to get me to notice them. And all of the bodies-I see food, and it makes me so nauseous. All I can think of is how gruesome everything was.” 

“Regardless of the reason why, Peter, you’re not taking care of yourself. And that  _ is  _ worrying. To all of us, it looks like a repeat of last year. Hell, I know you just explained it to me, but I’m still worried this has to do with everything that happened.” 

“With Harry, you mean.” Peter  _ hated  _ how everyone seemed to avoid saying his name around him. 

“Yeah, I do mean Harry. So I have to ask, Peter. Is this because of him?” 

“I already told you, I’m not sad-” 

“But you do feel like you need to figure this out or more people are going to die because of you. You feel it’s your responsibility if they live or die. Even though you’re not the one killing people, it’s this person out there doing it?” Tony asked, eyebrow raised. Peter sat back in his bed, the comment hitting home. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to have this sense of responsibility, Peter. It’s something I’ve always admired in you, kid. But the entire weight of the world shouldn’t be on your shoulders. People dying-that’s not because of you. It seems like no one else is trying to figure it out, but you’re not reaching out for help, Peter. People will keep dying if you don’t. And I don’t know why that is, other than you thinking we’re gonna think you’re crazy, which isn’t the case, but keeping it to yourself, putting this all on you to figure stuff out so you don’t make people worry, because you’re afraid of being a burden? It’s literally eating you up, Pete. You’re just not a burden kiddo, you’re not,” Tony finished, a tired, sad look on his face. 

“It feels like I am. Most people I know can handle shit like this without being too nauseous to eat,” Peter muttered. “Gwen and Miles are fine.” 

“You don’t know that. Just because you can’t physically see how it’s affecting them doesn’t mean they aren’t stressed out about what’s going on, Peter, and I know you know that,” Tony said, sounding so much like a parenting book that part of him wanted to laugh. Or cry, maybe. He wasn’t sure. This conversation felt like it was scooping up all his insides. “Gwen and Miles aren’t going to think you’re paranoid, again, because this person really is trying to fuck with you. But they are going to be worried because regardless of the reason, you’re not doing too hot right now. Peter, if you had lost more blood last night, we might not be having this conversation right now,” he added, his voice rough. He sniffed, and Peter could see him brush away something from his eyes. 

“I’m not trying to keep everyone out, I just don’t want to make everyone worry because my brain can’t handle shit like this, not like it used to,” Peter admitted. 

“Not really sure that’s how keeping us from worrying works, Peter. Do you realize how terrified May and I were last night? Trying to handle all this yourself  _ will  _ get you killed. We just want to keep you alive, kiddo. Please just let us try and support you.” 

“Boss, Mrs. Parker and Colonel Rhodes are two minutes away from the Med-Bay and are inquiring whether or not Mr. Parker is awake. Shall I tell them?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked, and Tony scoffed.

“Obviously, but don’t tell May I let twenty minutes go by without alerting her. Superhero to superhero talk or not, she will happily kick my ass,” he muttered. “Don’t spill the beans either, Spider-baby, I want to live to see another day.” As May and Rhodey came in, Peter could feel something loosen just the slightest bit in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he could rely on everyone to figure this out. Maybe it would be okay. 

* * *

“So, how are you feeling? Should we make a chart of where you’ve been impaled before so the bad guys don’t hit the same place twice?” Miles asked, sliding into the booth across from him. Peter rolled his eyes, shoving a menu towards him. 

“Where’s Gwen?” Peter asked, fiddling with his straw wrapper. He had planned a brunch for the three of them as soon as he got out of the Med-Bay, hoping they could go over everything that had been happening. Peter planned on spilling it all; hopefully once they were done eating they could come up with a way on how to attempt to figure this out. Peter simply wasn’t going to let more people die. He refused. 

“She’s coming, she was petting the stray cat she saw outside,” Miles responded, rolling his eyes. “Seriously though, how are you feeling? All healed up?” He hadn’t seen Miles the past few days, since he had gone home to visit his parents. His grandmother had just had surgery, and Miles had been helping around the house the first few days after her surgery to make sure she was doing okay.

“You have the same healing abilities as me, Miles, you know it’s just a scar by now,” Peter said, pulling up the edge of his shirt to show the shiny pink line. Miles whistled at it, and opened up the menu to look at what to order. 

Kenny’s was their go-to place-it was cheap, closeby, and they never seemed overwhelmed by the massive piles of food Peter, Gwen, and Miles could choke down. 

“Dude, I think they added a new breakfast sandwich,” Miles murmured, leaning forward to point at Peter’s menu. As they looked excitedly at that, Gwen came in, her black pants covered in cat fur and a bulge in her hoodie pocket. 

“What’s up, team?” She asked, sitting next to Peter and punching his shoulder. “Feeling better, dumbass?” Peter just frowned, looking at her lap. 

“Did you sneak the cat in here?” Gwen gave him an innocent look, but put her hands in her pocket, clearly petting what was in there. 

“MJ and I have talked about getting a pet for a while, and the poor thing was just sitting there, hungry,” she admitted. “I couldn’t let him starve while we were gorging ourselves on the delight that is Kenny’s fried breakfast foods.” 

“Why do I get the feeling that she’s lying about the whole talking to MJ bit?” Miles stage whispered, making Peter laugh. “Anyway, Pete is fine, the idiot is all healed up. More importantly, Kenny’s added stuff to the menu, look!” At that moment, their favorite waitress Diana came by, smiling at them all familiarly. 

“Can I get you three something to drink?” They all ordered coffees, as per usual, but Gwen requested a little saucer of milk. She ignored the boys’ judgment, and turned to Peter. 

“So, can I ask why you wanted us to do brunch? Not that I don’t love us hanging out, you know I adore the both of you, but to be honest Pete, you’ve kind of been avoiding food with a ten-foot pole recently.” 

“Gwen!” Miles exclaimed, kicking her under the table. Gwen shrugged, and Miles’s kick hit Peter’s shin.

“What, it’s true! We’ve all noticed it. I, for one, am just happy you’re feeling better, Peter,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. Peter considered melting into the floor, wishing that Johnny was here to burn him up take him out of his misery. It wasn’t that he was shocked his friends had noticed, but that didn’t mean it getting pointed out directly was ever any fun. 

“Alright, so, it’s kind of a lot,” Peter started, “so figure out what you want to order, because we might be here a while.” Diana came back over with the coffee and the milk for them all, and they put in their orders. Gwen sneakily put the milk next to her, and Peter trying to ignore the small cat head that popped up, drinking from the saucer. 

“Okay, so, there’s a lot to say, and I’m sorry that I haven’t told you about all of it already. MJ and Ned know a little, but I thought you all would think I was crazy or paranoid, or whatever. Okay, so, at the ceremony? Where all the people died? I saw who did it,” he said, lowering his voice so none of the people around him would hear him. He explained what had happened, and how unsettling the figure with the wings had been. 

“I genuinely think it has to do with Adrian Toomes. I know he’s in jail, and I know Tony has security on him, but the wings? His looking at me at the ceremony? It just feels too close to comfort. Ned suggested maybe it was someone working with him, but I don’t know. Tony worked hard to track down all of his stuff, and I mean, I guess it’s a possibility he missed something and an accomplice of Toomes could be using it, but why? Toomes does stuff for a reason, he doesn’t just kill senselessly.” 

“What about all the people who’ve died, though? You’re not saying that Toomes or whoever it is had a problem with all those people?” Miles asked, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“No, he hasn’t. They  _ are  _ senseless deaths in that they didn’t do anything to him, but he killed them to make a point. To get to me,” Peter explained. 

“Is that something this guy has done before? Has he ever killed like that?” Gwen asked, petting the shape in her hoodie. 

“No, which makes it even weirder. If Toomes wanted to directly get at me, he would have just done it. This whole roundabout thing, playing games-that’s not like him. Which gives more to the accomplice theory, but I know he’s trying to talk to me directly. That night at the party, I found something,” he admitted, telling them about the piece of paper in Elizabeth Avila’s hand and the murder of her brother. 

By the time the food came, Gwen and Miles were sitting in stunned silence, clearly overwhelmed by all the information Peter had just dropped on them. He felt a little bad, revealing everything bad that had been happening over the past few weeks so quickly, but he hoped the hot fresh food would help. Finally, as he was starting in on his peanut butter pancakes, Gwen spoke up.

“Okay, so this dude, whoever it is, majorly has it out for you Peter. He’s taunting you, he knows how to get to you. I mean, anybody dying is hard, but he must realize how much that gets to you,” she said, cutting up her french toast. “So it probably has to be someone who knows you.” 

“Did you know Toomes well?” Miles asked, taking a bite of the breakfast sandwich he had ordered. 

“Not particularly, no. I knew his daughter, Liz. I actually had a huge thing for her, Ned and MJ know,” he admitted, his face going red. 

“Okay, so coupled with that and the fact that he’s still in prison, it probably isn’t exactly Toomes,” he theorized. “But coupled with the wings and the fact that these murders are looking like they’re aimed to get a rise out of you, it still could be related to him. Maybe he has connections on the inside, and he’s working through someone else? Or maybe someone else who got released is following his orders. There had to have been other people in there at the same time with him who had a bone to pick with you, you’ve put a lot of people away,” Miles suggested. 

“That could be it,” Peter admitted, his mind going over all the criminals he had taken personal responsibility to take down. “But it feels too personal. The word responsibility over that man’s body? You all know that, Ben used to talk to me about responsibility all the time, it’s part of why I even  _ am  _ Spiderman. This wasn’t a random coincidence. It wasn’t a ‘Hi Peter’, but it might as well have been. I just don’t know how he could know that unless it was someone I told. But I don’t even really talk to anyone other than you guys, May, and Tony. It’s not like there’s this random new person in my life who’s acting all shifty and looking at my throat like a four-course meal.” 

“Regardless, you know what we have to do, Peter,” Gwen said, looking at him pointedly. Peter cocked his head, unsure of what she meant. More patrols? More planning? “You need to stand down for a while, stop going on patrols.” 

“Absolutely not,” he said quickly, looking at her like she had grown another head. “Are you serious? This guy is out there trying to make a point and get me to do something, and you want me to do nothing?” 

“I don’t want you to do nothing, but who’s to say when he stops killing random people and directly targets you?” Gwen asked, putting her fork down and looking at him with a no-nonsense expression. “It’s safer for you  _ and  _ the city.” Peter was about to protest, but Miles interrupted, stopping him.

“She has a point, Pete. The murders have only been happening when you’re on patrol. Not that it’s your fault,” he rushed to add, “but maybe if you’re not patrolling for a while he’ll stop? Or slip up and do something that helps us catch him.” 

“Plus, Pete, you could do with a break,” Gwen added. “I mean, you look better, but you still got stabbed, and you could use the time to put on a little weight. You’re looking a little like Flat Stanley, my friend.” Peter rolled his eyes at that, taking an over-exaggerated bite of his pancakes to prove his point. 

“You can’t make me stop patrolling,” he pointed out, but Miles just shrugged. 

“Yeah, that’s true, but you still haven’t gotten your suit back from Tony, right? You can’t patrol without your suit, and no way it takes that long to just fix a minor tear.” 

“Tony was just keeping it until I got my stomach one hundred percent cleared by Helen,” he argued, bristling at the suggestion that Tony was trying to slyly stop him from doing his job. “He would say something if he didn’t want me patrolling.” 

“Peter, would it really be such a bad thing if you just took a bit of a break? I’m not saying don't do anything,” Gwen argued, “but just try to figure this out without swinging around while you do it? Just for a little while, at least.” Peter stared at the two of them, his stomach twisting in anger. This wasn’t supposed to be how this conversation went. They were supposed to work together, not push him outside of what was going on. Especially when what was going on was clearly hinged around him. 

“Fine, but as soon as Tony gives my suit back, I’m going back out,” he argued, and he watched his two friends slightly relax. He wasn’t giving up on this.

“Good. Now c’mon, let’s come up with names for my little baby,” Gwen cooed, scratching the cat’s head as it licked her palm. 

* * *

“And what’s worse, is that when I went to Helen, she said my stomach was completely fine now, but he  _ refused  _ to give me back my suit,” Peter ranted, practically fuming as he sat on MJ’s couch. He had texted her after he had left Tony’s, angrier than he had been at brunch with Gwen and Miles. 

“Did he say why?” MJ asked, coming back to the couch with a large bowl of popcorn and a few beers. She flopped down next to him, making room on the coffee table for their food and grabbing the TV remote. 

“He said that Gwen and Miles had talked to him, and that he agreed that taking some time off would box the killer in. As if he’s not above waiting for me to get back on patrol to kill again,” Peter scowled, opening the beers for the two of them. 

“Ah, so that’s why Gwen dashed out of here when she heard you were coming over,” MJ said knowingly, taking a sip of her beer and setting up the movie. 

“Like I get it, I know I’m not exactly doing too hot, recently, but this killer isn’t just going to stop. He’lI wait until I ‘get my shit together,’” he said, putting up air quotation marks, “then start again.” MJ, thankfully, didn’t ask him about his inability to get shit together, just listened to him talk. “Like, on the one hand, I know they’ve got a point, that keeping me out of this means he’ll stop killing for a little bit, but another part of me feels that everybody is using this as a way for me to stop everything and start eating again.” 

“Is that such a bad thing?” MJ asked, looking at him with a poker face expression. 

“Yes, because there’s nothing wrong with me. I keep telling everyone, it’s not because of last year. Not really, anyway,” he said, shrugging and sitting back against the worn cushions of the couch. “I’m just grossed out by meat, it’s too bloody.” 

“I get that,” MJ muttered. 

“I mean, obviously I miss Harry. Obviously, I don’t want people to die. But I’m not eating to punish myself or anything, not again.” 

“It’s just what your body seems to think is a natural coping mechanism?” MJ asked, an eyebrow raised. Peter stopped, his mind repeating the words in his head. He opened his mouth to talk, and then closed it again. What was there to say, really? It’s not like she was wrong. 

“I did say I wasn’t doing too hot, but this isn’t because of Harry. It’s just….an after effect of last year. Not a continuation,” he explained. MJ nodded, and then gestured to the movie with her chin. 

“Want me to start it?” Thank god for MJ and providing him an out, because if he had to talk more about his feelings right now, he was going to lose it. 

“Yes, please. What are we watching?” MJ smirked, turning to the stack of movies on the side table next to her.

“Only the most classic horror movies created, Peter Parker. What do you want to start with, Chainsaw Massacre or Friday the 13th?” Peter looked at her in surprise. “Look, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that blood has been freaking you out lately. I saw your face when Johnny was making dinner with that beef you picked up for him, and that wasn’t even blood. I figured a good way to deal with it would be to numb yourself through the wonders of fake blood and horrible acting.” It was...an odd method, but maybe it would help. If he could just convince himself that the stuff he was seeing was fake, that it wasn’t real, maybe he could trick his brain into not freaking out. At least stop his brain from freaking over things that  _ weren’t  _ blood, like the ground beef, and for the real blood he saw, make his brain wait until he wasn’t in the middle of a crime scene to panic. 

“I’m not exactly sure it’s an orthodox therapy method, but I’m willing to give it a try, I guess,” he said. “Let’s do Chainsaw Massacre, I suppose. Might as well jump right in.” She got up to put the movie in, and Peter felt almost warm from the gesture. Again, it wasn’t exactly what he was thinking, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought it could work. After all, the first time he had had to do a dissection, he had been nauseous, but the more he did it, the easier it had been for his curiosity to take over. He had told that to MJ once, when they were lab partners when Ned had strep throat in senior year. She had remembered. 

She settled back in, starting their movie night. It was gory, yeah, and the first few times blood appeared on the screen, he felt a little sick. 

“God, I can’t believe they think that could happen from that. The artery is over there, dumbass,” MJ had muttered, and that had helped. As the movie went on, the more he was able to see it for what it was. Badly dyed corn-starch and a lot of horrible fake screams of pain. After the movie ended, MJ looked at him. 

“You seemed to be doing okay. You didn’t look like you were panicking, except for a little bit at the beginning,” she noted, staring at him and waiting for a reaction. “Next movie?” Peter meant to answer her, but he couldn't help but pick up on her words.

“You were watching me?” MJ rolled her eyes at that.

“I always do, Peter. How does Silence of the Lambs sound for the next one?” Wordlessly, Peter nodded. As she settled back in, Peter couldn’t help but feel how he did right before the ceremony. Like he was either going to make some snarky sarcastic comment, or ask to kiss her. He stopped himself though, shoving popcorn into his mouth. This was supposed to be a feelings free night, and if he asked to kiss MJ, that would certainly mean a feelings talk. 

They were halfway through the movie, when Hannibal was being flown to Memphis, when his phone started buzzing. Peter frowned, waiting for it to stop. It was probably Jameson, on his ass again about some stupid assignment that he decided was suddenly not up to par. After a few seconds it stopped, but then it started buzzing again. MJ looked over, staring at his phone.

“You planning on answering that?” Peter shook his head, but he was starting to get a weird feeling. Jameson usually only called once and would leave an extremely long, loud, angry voicemail. 

“It’s probably just work,” he explained, hoping that it wouldn’t go of again. He put his phone on silent, but MJ’s started going off, and she looked at hers in confusion. She picked up her phone, seeing that it was Gwen’s name on the screen. 

“Gwen? You okay?” MJ asked, pausing the movie and freezing Hannibal’s face. 

“Is Peter there? I need to talk to him,” Gwen said, the tinny sound of her voice over the phone sounding frantic. 

“Yeah, he and I are having a movie night, I’ll hand you over,” she said, giving him the phone and looking at Peter in confusion. “Isn’t she on patrol night?” She mouthed, and Peter nodded. The weird feeling he got intensified as he put the phone up to his ear.

“Gwen?” He heard an angry intake of breath from Gwen, who started yelling at him.

“I called you four times, you asshole! Thank god MJ actually picks up her phone!” Peter flipped his phone over and winced at the four missed call notifications. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you were work,” he apologized. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He knew deep down though that that wasn’t what it was. All of their suits had AI tech in them, and Miles and Gwen had no problem using them to alert others for backup in case of injury. Peter was the stubborn asshole who resisted against Karen. 

“Peter, they killed again. I got the notification but they weren’t there by the time I got to the park,” she confessed, her voice angry. Shit. “It was someone our age.” Fuck. Not being able to save someone always felt like a punch to the gut. 

“Okay, so they’re not just killing when I’m on patrol now. Great.” Peter rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. Did this really have to keep happening? Couldn’t he have just one night to be a normal person and have a movie night? Admittedly, a movie night to get over the whole blood issue he was having right now because he kept finding the victims of a serial murderer, but that was all details. 

“There’s more,” Gwen said, her voice steady. “Peter, your name is above the body. The killer wrote it on the sidewalk.” 

* * *

Peter scrambled into work, trying to make himself look casual and not like he was on the brink of being late. He had left his lecture late, and by the time he made it to the subway, the car had left, leaving him waiting for the next one. Thanks, Parker luck. 

He practically threw himself into his desk chair, hurriedly clocking into work. Thank god, he made it right before the clock turned over to 3:01. Jameson would have loved to use that as an excuse for firing him.

“You okay, Peter?” Betty asked, looking at him with her eyebrows raised. Peter nodded, pulling his tie out of his backpack and putting in on crookedly. 

“Just running late,” he said, giving her a tight smile. That was true, though part of it was because he was on edge. He hadn’t been able to pay very much attention during class, and needed to stay after to review with his professor some of the questions he had. It wasn’t his fault, not really. He had spent the entire morning in his classes wondering if the cops were going to burst in and put him in handcuffs. Sure, he hadn’t actually committed that murder yesterday, but having your name painted in blood at a crime scene? That didn’t exactly scream innocent. 

“Well, you can relax. Jameson has been so busy all morning that he barely even scowled at your desk when he stopped by to talk about an article,” Betty said, turning back to her work. “By the way, I wanted to say it was so nice for us all to hang out again. We should try and plan something for Halloween.” 

“Isn’t that still kind of far away? September hasn’t even ended yet,” Peter pointed out, and Betty grinned. 

“Well, Johnny and I  _ may  _ have talked about it already. It’s the best holiday, plus, it offers the chance for some scheming.” 

“Scheming?” Betty turned to him, a mischievous grin on her face. 

“For Johnny and Ned, of course. Johnny doesn’t know that--he just wants a party so he can get over Ned by-”

“By getting under someone else,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. Betty nodded, laughing at his expression. 

“You all spend too much time together. But yes, that’s what Johnny is planning. However, he doesn’t know me, and he doesn’t know that I’m going to help Ned pick out his costume. And also, will probably lock the two of them in a closet and force them to talk about their feelings,” she admitted. “In my defense, watching the two of them circle around each other is exhausting, and I’m tired of it.” 

“Try living with it,” Peter snorted. “How many people is Johnny planning on inviting?” 

“He didn’t say, but from what you’ve told me, I assume a lot. My apologies to your apartment,” she said, putting a hand on his from across their desks in mock sympathy. “On the bright side, though, that means I don’t feel bad about bringing Eugene!”

“I thought he was coming for Thanksgiving,” Peter asked, opening up his photo editing program and starting to work on one of his newest pieces. 

“He was planning on it, but he heard about everything that’s been happening here. It really freaked him out, he said he wanted to talk to me before, well, before.” Peter turned to her in surprise, noticing the slightly guilty look on her face. 

“What, does he think you’re going to get attacked or something?” Her expression changed, horrified at the question.

“Oh my god, no! No, Peter, not at all. But it’s been freaking me out, all of these murders. I told him I was looking for a new job, and was thinking of moving. He offered to let me come stay with him and find a job, but I told him that if that was going to happen, we would have to try it out, see if he could manage a weekend with me before trying to push me away,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He doesn’t realize I’m planning on sitting down with him and going into full detail on how the way he hates himself isn’t fair to him and that he shouldn’t project his insecurities onto how I feel about him.” God bless Betty Brant.

“Well, I wish you luck, Betty. I don’t think he’ll be able to argue with you, Ms. Debate Queen,” he teased, happy to see the pleased little smile on her face. He was about to talk to her more about the party, when Jameson’s voice came from his office.

“Parker, get over here!” Even Betty winced at how loud and annoyed his voice was, and she gave him a look of genuine sympathy this time. 

“Remember how I said don’t worry? Well, scratch that. Good luck, Peter.” Peter sighed, pushing himself out of his chair to go to Jameson’s office. Even though Jameson usually yelled at Peter a few times a week, it never made the experience any better. Jameson always threatened that the next time he talked to him, Peter wouldn’t have a job. Sure, he never ended up actually doing anything about it, but that didn’t mean Peter didn’t worry. He needed this job, it paid his bills. He refused to use May or Tony help him, they had taken care of him for far too long. May especially, those years she had spent raising him alone. 

He got to Jameson’s door, knocking quickly and opening it was he was called in. To his surprise, rather than it just being Jameson in there, glaring at him over that stupid, ironic mug of his and his photographs on his desk, there were two other people in there with him. They were two men, sitting across from Jameson in his uncomfortable office chairs. Sitting ramrod straight with short, almost buzzed hair, Peter had a feeling that the whole arrest thing? Yeah, that was going to happen in his workplace, rather than at school. 

“These are detectives LeClair and Walker. They have a couple of questions for you over the recent murder of Maria Campbell,” Jameson said, a smug look on his face. Goddamnit. “Writing your name out, Parker? I knew you weren’t that bright, but I never thought you were that much of a dumbass.” 

“Mr. Jameson, please. We’ll handle this from here,” one of them said. Peter had no idea which one was LeClair and which one was Walker. Even if Jameson had pointed it out, they still looked similar. “Mr. Parker, we’d like to bring you down to answer some questions. We can do this nice and easy, or you can make this difficult for us. Do you have a preference?” 

“Easy way, sir,” Peter muttered. “Right now though? I kind of have to finish something for work,” he said, looking at Jameson and hoping for once his boss would at least throw him a lifeline. 

“No need to work, Parker. Your time here at the Bugle is done. We don’t tend to let murderers work at our establishment,” Jameson said, raising his voice so no doubt the entire office heard. Peter was a vigilante, not a criminal, but he was considering webbing Jameson to the outside of the building. 

“C’mon, Mr. Parker. Why don’t you go grab your stuff and we can bring you down to the station,” the other detective said. Peter nodded, mouth in a tight line. When he opened the door, the entire office was silent, looking at him with no attempts to hide it. He steeled himself, and took a deep breath. He could do this. He knew he was innocent. That’s all that mattered, screw what everyone else thought. He saw Eddy in particular frowning at him. Had that asshole been the one on the scene last night and told the police who he was? Or had he told Jameson and his bastard of his now-former boss taken it upon himself to call and let the police know his photographer was the Peter Benjamin Parker they were looking for? 

_ It doesn’t matter _ , the little voice that sounded like Harry said.  _ Just get your stuff and leave. _ (when editing put more of this in) He got to his desk quickly unplugging his laptop and packing his stuff up. His hands were trembling, and he almost dropped a mug of pens. A hand rested on his forearm, and he looked up to see Betty’s sad face. 

“It’s fine, I’ll pack up all of your knick-knacks and stuff, okay? I’ll bring it over to MJ and Gwen’s after work,” she said, taking the mug from him. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling his backpack on and grabbing his camera bag. 

“It’ll be okay, Peter. I know you’re innocent,” she responded, eyes flicking to the detectives several feet behind him. He squeezed her hand, and then motioned for the detectives to lead the way. 

He knew he was innocent, and so did Betty, thank God. But that didn’t mean much if the rest of New York thought that Spiderman was guilty. 

* * *

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about them anymore, Mr. Parker,” Matt said calmly, a pleased look on his face as Peter took his phone out of the bag the police had put his valuables in. Dozens of notifications were on the screen; he winced and put it in his pocket. 

“Thanks, Matt, but to be honest, well, I know you’re good at what you do, but my name  _ was  _ at the crime scene. You have to admit that looks bad,” he sighed. He had spent most of the day being badgered at by police, insisting that he knew nothing. They hadn’t listened, asking him again and again why he had chosen to kill that girl. They hadn’t said he was under arrest, but that didn’t mean they were just going to let him go. Hell, they hadn’t even read his Miranda rights. Peter had tried asking for a lawyer, hoping he could get someone in there to help, but they had said because he wasn’t arrested, he didn’t need one.

Thank god for Matt Murdock; he had come back an hour ago with a statement from MJ, data from his phone showing it pinged off the cellphone tower near her apartment, and a threat to press charges against  _ them  _ for denying Peter his right to a phone call. 

When they had told Matt he didn’t get a phone call because he wasn’t under arrest, Matt had threatened to press charges for not allowing him his right to counsel, shutting them up fairly quickly. 

“A coincidence,” Matt shrugged. “That’s not real evidence. Plus, Maria’s younger brother stated that the last time he saw Maria, she was talking to a bald man. Last time I checked, you have a full head of hair.” Peter rolled his eyes, running his hands through his hair absentmindedly. 

“How did you even know I was in there?” He asked, hoping that his friends hadn’t found it weird that Peter had Matt’s number in his desk. Peter knew what Matt did in his free time, that’s why he had his number, but that didn’t mean it was fair for his identity to get revealed to his friends just because the man was doing him a favor. 

“A former...colleague of mine, I suppose that’s the best way to describe it, called me and told me to help you out. Said he knew there was no way you were guilty.” Matt had that little shit-eating grin on his face that appeared whenever he knew something Peter didn’t. 

“Ned? Miles? Johnny?” Matt shook his head to each name.

“You don’t actually know him. Well, you do, but not very well,” Matt shrugged. “He asked that his name be kept anonymous. He didn’t want his boss to know he was helping you out.” It hit Peter suddenly, and his mouth dropped open.

“Eddie Brock called you?” 

“You said it, not me,” Matt smirked. “Now, in regard to payment….” Oh shit. Peter had forgotten about that part. When he had requested a lawyer in there, he figured they were going to give him one of the pro-bono people. There was no way in hell he could actually afford to pay a lawyer. “I’m just joking, calm down. I can hear how frantic your heartbeat is. C’mon, you can buy me a coffee and tell me what’s going on.” 

You know what, screw Matt Murdock. 

“Fine, but don’t get anything overpriced. I’m out of a job now.” Matt started walking, and Peter rushed to follow him, the older, taller man taking longer strides. They didn’t talk while they walked, but that was fine with Peter. He had talked way too long in the station, trying to prove that he was innocent. He had honestly figured he was going to get charged and put in prison that day, and have to call May from a cell to ask for help. 

In about five minutes, they were outside of a dinky looking coffee shop, the neon sign of a coffee mug flickering. Matt opened the door, holding it open for Peter and waiting for him to come in. He sat down at a tiny, worn down table motioned for Peter to put his bag down. 

“I’ll have a hot coffee, black,” he said, smiling up at Peter. Peter internally gagged--no sugar or cream?--but went to order, buying an iced coffee for himself. He was quickly back at their table, the strong smell of coffee filling his nose. He had to admit, despite his aversion to black coffee, Matt’s beverage smelled pretty good. 

“So, Spider-Boy, what’s been going on? I must say, from a defense lawyer to a vigilante, it looks pretty messy,” Matt mused, taking a long sip from his coffee. Peter took a drink of his own coffee, and told the entire story, starting from the ceremony to the most recent murder. He told him about Elizabeth, about her brother, about the bodies that seemed to pop up on his shifts and his shifts alone. Except for Maria’s. He talked about Toomes, and the wings, and how he still was in prison. When he finished, Matt sat in silence, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“The case is making the impossible possible, apparently,” he finally murmured. 

“What part do you mean, exactly?” Peter asked, long having finished his coffee. He chewed on the straw, a nervous habit of his. 

“I’m sure the police didn’t mention this to you, but my colleague who’s name I won’t reveal but called me to help you, well, he said that the police found DNA this time,” he said casually. Peter sat up in his seat, surprised. 

“What was it?” Matt took another long sip from his coffee.

“A canine tooth,” the man said casually.

“And the assholes still tried to pin it on me? I have all my teeth,” he frowned. May and Ben had taught him dental hygiene  _ very  _ early on in life. He had been part of the no-cavity club for years. 

“My guess is that they figured you knew something, or were working as an accomplice. And to be fair, you do know quite a bit,” Matt pointed out. 

“Incorrect, Spiderman knows a lot of stuff, Peter Parker doesn’t,” he argued. Matt let out a small breath of laughter. 

“Good point. Anyway, they tested the tooth, put a rush order on it. It took very little convincing, apparently. A friend of mine at the medical examiner’s said the Mayor practically ordered that anything else that came in yesterday be pushed aside.” 

“So do they know whose tooth it is?” Peter asked, wondering if this was all about to end. Maybe they had figured it out, and they could catch the guy. He wouldn’t have to worry about finding another body, or being the reason why those bodies were popping up in the first place. 

“Mhm. It matched the dental records of Adrian Toomes.” 

* * *

Adrian Toomes.

He had been right after all. 

The feeling wasn’t as good as he imagined it would be, though after the murders of so many people, Peter figured that was understandable. There was no sense of relief though, over knowing that Toomes was behind all of this. If anything, there were more questions. 

The police were getting in contact with the prison Toomes was in, but Peter knew that if Toomes had escaped, Tony would have seen it and said something to him. So how could he have possibly gotten out, multiple times, murdered someone and lost a tooth, and then snuck back in multiple times? Why even sneak back in from jail? It seemed almost counterproductive. 

And again, Toomes wanted to make a point to Peter, clearly, but killing a bunch of innocent people? Sure, Toomes had put people at risk before, treated them like collateral damage, but to actually go out and kill them? In such a brutal way, too. It just didn’t seem to fit him as a person. Plus, last he remembered, when Toomes had smiled at him when driving him and Liz to Homecoming, he had all his teeth.

He guessed he could have lost one while in jail, but why bring the tooth with him? He doubted he lost it during the murder of Maria, she was just a kid. 

It was clearly Toomes-the DNA matched, and from the old dental records they had on record, it was a perfect match for the man’s canine tooth. But the behavior was different, the tooth thing was weird, the whole situation was bizarre. The crimes were literally happening in a completely different part of the country from where Toomes was being held. It was like Toomes was in two places at once, he mused. He was certainly an expert at that. 

He stared up at the stars, the cool night making him shiver just the slightest bit. He hadn’t brought a blanket with him this time, having gone home from the coffee shop in a fog of shock. His friends had asked him what had happened when he got home, but he had just brushed it off and explained that Mr. Murdock had helped him get out of the situation. Ned had tried to ask him more questions, but Peter really didn’t feel like talking. 

After a day like today, he really needed a roof night. Being up here helped him think, helped him clear his mind. He couldn’t help but wish that Harry was here. Harry had always been able to look at a problem and see it from a different point of view. He could use that now. The answer felt like it was right in front of him, but just out of his reach. 

_ The most obvious solution is usually the right one, Pete _ , the voice at the back of his mind said. Even though it was his own consciousness encouraging him, taking on the sound of Harry’s voice, the encouragement was nice. Harry had always been able to see a problem from a different point of view, but Peter was the one who was able to figure out the final answer and solve it. 

Two places at once-how could Toomes be two places at once? 

“Mind if I join you?” Peter turned out, surprised to see MJ’s head popping out from the door that led up to the roof. This was the first time he had ever seen someone on the roof that wasn’t him, let alone the first time someone had been up there with him. 

“Not at all,” Peter said, shrugging and trying to act casually. MJ knew about the roof nights, but she had never actually spent one with him. This felt different. More serious. She came over, her own blanket wrapped around her shoulders. He recognized it as the comforter from his bed. 

“I figured I would find you up here,” she noted, sitting down next to him. “How do you feel, jailbird?” 

“I didn’t actually get arrested, you know. I was just brought in for questioning,” he pointed out. “No actual charges were placed.” She made a little noise of affirmation, and looked up at the stars. 

“It’s nice up here. You can see them a little better, huh?” Peter didn’t say anything, just joined her in looking up. He considered bringing up what Matt had told him, but the moment didn’t really seem right. Sure, he did his best thinking on roof nights, but the roof wasn’t meant to be a place for vigilante detective work. It was supposed to be a space where he could just  _ be _ . 

“You know, I never asked you how you’re feeling. Your stomach, I mean,” MJ said. “You were telling me about Tony during the movie night, and how frustrated you were. But you didn’t say anything about you know, being stabbed.” She was still looking up at the stars while she talked.

“Not much to talk about, really. Got stabbed like a fish, lived to tell the tale,” he said nonchalantly. 

“You’ve never been fishing,” she smirked. “Ned told me what happened when you two tried to join Boy Scouts.” 

“Yeah, ha-ha, very funny. It’s not like the camp counselor got seriously injured,” Peter muttered. 

“So did you happen to almost bleed out while you were swinging in Boy Scouts, or is that something you only save for patrol nights?” She was looking at him now, a fierce look on her face. 

“How did you find-” 

“Tony and I talk. Mostly about you,” she admitted. “He called me when you got hurt.” 

“Did he call all of you?” Peter asked, curious. Tony hadn’t said anything about calling the rest of them. He had texted them once he had gotten his phone back, but MJ had never let on that she already knew. 

“No, just me,” she sighed. “Do you know what that’s like, Peter, being called and told the person you care about most could have died, and you were asleep in your bed, completely oblivious to it?” Peter felt like a fish now, mouth gaping open. 

“You didn’t say anything about this during our movie night,” he answered, confused. 

“It wasn’t the time. I knew you were pissed and were more likely to be defensive. You wouldn’t be honest with me.”

“And after I got taken down by the police because they think that I’m a suspect in the murder I’m trying to solve? I’m less defensive right now?” He asked, sarcasm dripping from him. 

“Not on the roof, no. But that’s partially why I decided to talk to you now. Because if you  _ had  _ gotten arrested? If this had gone to a courtroom? Who knows what would have happened to you? If I could have talked to you again?” Peter wanted to bring up that with the tooth evidence, that wasn’t likely, but he felt that interrupting MJ right now would be an utterly shitty move. 

“Well, then, what do you want to know, I guess?” He asked, staring at his friend. A slight breeze went by, and he shivered. MJ rolled her eyes, and pulled the comforter off, wrapping it around his shoulders.

“Stupid spider, practically asking for hypothermia,” she muttered. “I want to know why you were swinging even after you got hurt.” 

“Did Tony not tell you I said I didn’t want to be a burden?” MJ stared him dead in the eyes. 

“He told me that, yes, but I know you, Peter Parker. It’s not that simple. You’ve called him before when you’re hurt. Hell, even with how this whole thing is affecting you, the thing you’re more worried about than bothering people is making them worry about you. So that’s not why you did it, not entirely, anyway.” Peter frowned, chewing on his lip nervously. MJ always had been able to read him too well. “Does this have to do with Harry?”

“Not everything has to do with Harry,” he said quietly. 

“But this does, doesn’t it?” MJ asked, voice sure. Peter shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “What is it?” 

“Last year,” he started, figuring out how to talk about it without sounding even more like a pathetic idiot who couldn’t just move on, “when I was feeling really, really bad, it was like...I mean, I know it was my conscience. It wasn’t him. But when I felt that bad, it was like I could hear Harry telling me not to do anything stupid. It was nice, really. And then I got better, and things were fine. I stopped hearing him. The night I got stabbed, I was arguing with Karen over her calling Tony. I genuinely didn’t want to have to make him come over. But then I heard him again, telling me to stop being an idiot. That was the first time I had heard him in months. And to be honest, I really didn’t want to hear my dead boyfriend yelling at me while I waited for Tony. It’s nice hearing him, it is. But it makes me miss him more. At least with the pain from swinging over, it didn’t give me the time to think of it.” He finished, taking a deep breath while MJ stared at him. “I know, it sounds crazy.” 

“It’s not crazy, Peter, get that internalized ableist shit out of here,” MJ sighed, nodding his shoulder with her own. “It’s sad, yeah. I wish you didn’t feel like this. And I wish you hadn’t relied on hurting yourself to feel better.” 

“I don’t hurt myself,” he argued. “I didn’t get stabbed on purpose, MJ.” He had struggled in the past with feelings like that, but it wasn’t like that now. Right?

“You used the pain of being stabbed to get Harry out of your head. You did it on purpose because it helped you feel better in the moment. Emotionally better, at least.” Peter didn’t say anything, trying to wrap his mind around what he was saying. “It’s like I said during our movie night, with the whole food thing. It’s become so natural that you don’t even realize you’re doing it,” she said quietly. 

“I don’t mean to,” he said honestly. “I didn’t even realize-well, not too much, I guess. I try not to think about it. How I’m feeling, I mean. The bad feelings, anyway. Jesus, I’m messed up,” he sighed. “I don’t even know how to go about fixing it. I thought I was over it, over everything that happened, but I don’t know if that’s even possible. If I’ll ever feel completely better. I don’t even know if I  _ should  _ feel better,” he said, realizing how true it was as he said it out loud. “I don’t know how to fix it, and it’s so natural to me at this point...I don’t even know if want to fix it.”

“Harry would want you to be happy. You know that, Peter,” MJ said softly. “ _ I  _ want you to be happy.” He looked at her, and put his hand over hers. “

“I do, yeah,” he responded. “And I am happy. Happiest, really, when I’m with you, y’know.” She squeezed his hand, but gave him a bittersweet smirk. 

“I’m happiest with you too. And you don’t have to get over him completely Peter. I would never ask that of you. I miss him too. But Peter, I finally realized today, what with you getting hurt, I couldn’t not say what I was thinking. I can’t be sure that you’re going to try and help yourself, or if you’re going to let yourself get hurt and not care. I can’t watch you do that to yourself, Pete. It’s not fair to me. And you’re hurting, I know you, I know you’re still hurting over Harry. But I can’t be with someone who’s killing himself over a dead man, Peter. I’m sorry,” she sighed, leaning over and giving him a small kiss on the cheek. 

With that, she left the roof, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 Warnings: Peter is VERY depressed, disordered eating, discussions of disordered eating, references to suicidal ideation/thoughts, blood, cannibalism mention, Peter is in a fight with the villain, Peter gets bitten + his shin gets stabbed by the villain

Life sucked. Like really, really fucking sucked.

Peter was wrapped up in his comforter, watching old episodes of The Golden Girls to distract himself. God, those women were funny. He sent out a mental prayer to whatever god was out there for Betty White to stay alive and keep kicking. He was beyond well aware of how pathetic he had been over the past few weeks, but considering how horribly everything had been going? He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

September had passed into October, and he was an absolute mess. It wasn’t just the whole thing with MJ ( _That’s a big part of it_ , Harry-not-Harry said matter of factly), though that sucked. He had loved her for months, and to know that she felt similarly but didn’t want to be with him? He thought that hurt more than outright rejection.

And what sucked more was that she was right in everything she said. It wasn’t fair to her to date someone who did the bare minimum to stay safe in such a dangerous job. He hurt himself without realizing he did it and didn’t even want to try to get better. She cared about him too, yeah, but just because she cared about him and he cared about her didn’t make it fair to hurt her. It was his own stupid brain that was the problem, and his responsibility to at least get to the point where he wanted to try to fix it.

But he just couldn’t. Maybe if the murders weren’t still continuing, though thankfully with no with his name at the crime scene, he could have tried to feel better. But he was still being barred from patrolling by Gwen and Miles, who had taken one glance at him and told him he needed to take care of himself. He had told him about the tooth, but they had pointed out what he had already figured out, that you couldn’t be in two places at once. They had argued it had to be a partner of Toomes, planting evidence to mess with his head.

Peter knew that wasn’t right. Miles and Gwen were some of the smartest people he knew, but they weren’t right. Of course, he didn’t have any proof. It was far more likely that Toomes had a partner than he was able to mess with reality, but Peter felt in his gut that there was something more going on.

The needing to take care of himself, on the other hand….well, that hadn’t been far off.

The not eating hadn’t been intentional. It never was. But the stress of being able to do nothing to help people, and the realization that the only person keeping him from being happy was himself? Sue him, he had lost his appetite.

At the very least, he was able to sleep again, the sadness pulling him under and granting him hours of dreamless sleep.

Thank god, because if he saw Harry right now, he’d lose his shit.

* * *

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, staring at May’s living room. It was Friday, their usual dinner night. Peter hadn’t been eating much, but he had made sure to keep up with the routine of seeing his aunt. If he could prevent hurting one person, it would be May, even if he had to choke down the food he made. It always tasted like ash.

May had opened the door and led him back here, where Tony was sitting in their old armchair. Coffee mugs were on the table; he’d clearly been here for some time.

"Are you holding an intervention for me?” No one said anything, and Peter glared at both of them in turn.

“An intervention has multiple people,” Tony said, trying to give him a grin. “This is just dinner with two parties who are concerned about you.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t get it. He was sad, not lacking self-awareness. He had been majorly struggling and giving up on the pretense of taking care of himself. That didn’t mean it was okay for them to do this, to surround him when he wasn’t expecting it. It was underhanded, manipulative. “Well, great talk, you two, I’ve got to go,” he scowled, turning around and going to leave.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, sit down right now,” May said, voice steely. Peter stopped, considering running anyway. Neither of them could outrun them. Even in his suit, Tony usually let Peter go ahead of him during fights. But if he didn’t let them talk at him, then they would try this again. Better let them get it over with before he could go wallow in his own misery. He sat back down, not looking either of them in the eye. If they were going to talk, they could talk at his forehead.

“Peter, honey, we’re worried,” May said finally, her voice much softer now. “We tried to give you some leeway, let you process through what’s going on, but you look sick. I’m afraid you’re going to start passing out again.”

“That’s not something you have to worry about,” Peter lied. He’d been feeling dizzy the past few days in lab, but he refused to think about what that meant. “I’m just stressed, okay? Midterms are coming up, they still haven’t gotten Toomes to confess.”

“Toomes didn’t do this, Peter. He’s been in jail and they checked his teeth, he hasn’t lost any,” Tony argued.

“It could be a fake.” Tony got up, started to pace.

“Peter, it doesn’t matter what the hell is going on with Toomes, okay? You’re not okay right now. You’re not safe right now. And you know what’s worse? You won’t even be honest with May and me about how bad it’s gotten. We can see how much weight you’ve lost, Peter.”

“It’s just a few pounds, I told you, I’m stressed!” How could he explain how food had no taste, how it brought no pleasure? How even just chewing exhausted him when he was this goddamn sad? They wouldn’t get it. It was easier to lie. “And it does matter! People are dying and everyone else is just waiting around for the next body to drop. If you all would just let me patrol and figure out how he’s in two places at once, I could finally, I don’t know, relax? Maybe feel better because I didn’t let another person die? I’d be fine if I could just solve this!”

_That’s not true, and you know it._

“Peter, we know what’s going on, so please just stop lying to us, okay?” May asked, leaning forward and putting a hand on his knee. Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he tried to ignore the warmth of her hand. That was one of the shitty things about his metabolism; he got so cold when he had trouble eating. Add in the fact that it was October, and the cold breezes didn’t help.

“What do you mean, you know what’s going on?” He asked, looking at the two of them.

“We have a thing called eyes, Pete,” Tony said under his breath, causing May to shoot him a murderous glare.

“What Tony means to say,” she said pointedly, “is that we’ve noticed, Peter. And so have your friends. They’ve all gotten in contact with us because they’re concerned about you, and they don’t know how to help you anymore.” Peter felt the anger course through his veins, but what was stronger was the shame. He knew he wasn’t exactly hiding what was going on, but knowing that his friends knew? That they had actually gone to Tony and May to tell them they were worried? God, he wanted to crawl up into a ball and die.

“I don’t need help, I need time.” Time to just get his shit together, be better.

“With your metabolism, Pete, you don’t get that much time,” Tony said seriously. “Just because you won’t admit there’s something wrong doesn’t mean we’re going to let you just wither away and die. Not again.”

“Are you serious?” Peter couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. Jesus, this was getting annoying. Was no one listening to him, or did they genuinely not hear him when he said this wasn’t the same?

“We are, baby. We want you to talk to someone, anyone, Peter. I know it’s scary, I know you don’t want to do it, but it’s okay to need that extra help. It’s alright if you’re feeling-suicidal again,” May said, her voice sorrowful.

“I’m not trying to die! It’s not like last year!” He blew up at that point, the remark about the past shitshow that had been his life last year the final straw. “I get it, I’m messed up over Harry, everyone knows! Everyone talks about it behind my back, too, because apparently, you’re all afraid of breaking me. But I am trying to handle it, and I know its not great, but I am trying. Everyone is constantly smothering me, asking me what’s wrong; maybe if you all just left me alone and let me deal with my shit I wouldn’t feel like this!” He got up to leave, and Tony’s words stopped him in his tracks.

“I love you Pete, but you’re not trying. If you’re going to lie to us, fine. But don’t lie to yourself like that.”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, grabbing his thin coat and leaving the apartment, slamming the door so hard on the way out that he heard the wood crack.

It didn’t matter.

He raced down the steps of the building, ignoring the elevator. He really didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now, he needed to run, to do something. He was about to leave the building when he heard someone running after him. He stopped, turning around to see Tony coming towards him. Screw that.

He opened the apartment building doors and walked out, ignoring the curious looks people were giving him when they saw Tony following behind him.

“Peter, stop,” Tony said, grabbing his arm and stopping him in place. Peter let it happen, knowing that if he wanted to he could yank his arm away so fast it would dislocate Tony’s shoulder. The people walking by moved around them, as if there was some barrier that kept them from being bumped into. Tony got more odd looks, but he didn’t seem to care, didn’t even really seem to notice that they were standing in the doorway of the store that used to hold Ben’s favorite bakery, but became a shoe shop his freshman year of college. “Pete, I know that was hard to hear, but you needed to hear it.”

“Not really, no. You wanted to say it, but that’s different,” Peter argued, voice low. He really wasn’t interested in being told a second time that he wasn’t trying to get better. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right, Harry-not-Harry suggested.

“Peter, I always wanted better for you. I know I haven’t been the best mentor over the years, but all I’ve ever wanted was to know you were safe and to know you were happy. And Peter, kid, ever since Harry died-you’re not the same kid anymore. And you don’t have to be, god knows I wasn’t after Jarvis died, but you’re shutting down, and I don’t know what to do anymore,” he said, his voice hopeless. Tony looked utterly, utterly lost, and Peter emphasized. He had no idea what he was really doing anymore, other than going through the motions and trying to act fine.

“I’d be better if you all were actually listening to me when I said I’d be able to figure this out,” Peter responded, pulling his coat tighter around him. “You all seem to think this is just Harry’s Death 2.0., and it’s not. I needed help then, but I’ll be okay now, if you all just give me some space,” he lied. It wasn’t that he was lying about wanting space-if anything, he craved solitude right now. He didn’t want to be around anyone for the foreseeable future. But the logical part of him could see his behavior, see his weight loss, see his thoughts. That part of him knew he needed help.

But he lied anyway.

Tony looked so sad.

“You sound like you did a year ago, Peter.” The words were like a slap to the face. “Just because you say it doesn’t make it true, kid.”

“We’re talking in circles, Tony. I get it, you’re worried. But just give it a rest, let me just deal with this on my own,” Peter muttered, his voice dark. Tony just stared at him. Peter knew he was cranky, knew he was bitter. It felt like poison was in his veins, rearing its ugly head when anyone got too close to him.

“God, Peter, I wish you hadn’t turned out like me,” he whispered, an almost horrified expression on his face.

Something in Peter shattered. He turned away, walking fast so Tony wouldn’t be able to catch up with him this time.

There was no need to. Tony didn’t even try to follow.

* * *

Peter was absolutely not in the mood for a party.

The last thing he wanted was to spend time around a bunch of drunk people in costumes, hearing them laugh and yell and spill beer all over the floor. But Johnny had begged him to go last week, before everyone had snitched on him for being sad, and angry as he was, he had promised he’d be there. It was either that, or find somewhere to sleep for the night. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at home, and he would rather get stabbed again than stay the night at Tony or May’s right now.

The two of them had been sending him texts and voicemails all day, and he finally shut his phone off when Ned asked to help him decorate. With his and Miles’s ability to climb up the walls, they always were able to put the fake webs in the best places.

So there he was, wrapping a pumpkin garland around their bookshelf and trying to tune out Johnny’s instructions on how to play Spooky Pong.

“Hey, Pete,” Ned whispered, nudging him with his shoulder. Peter looked up tiredly at his best friend, and Ned held his hand out. He opened his fist to show him a Kit Kat. “I grabbed it before Johnny could start his sugar rush,” he said, a smirk on his face. Despite the anger he felt at all of his friends, his guard went down a little, and he smiled at Ned. It felt empty, weird, but it was still a smile.

“Thanks, dude,” he said, taking the candy and putting it in his flannel pocket. Ned, to his credit, didn’t say anything about his eating it, just chatted with him as he put stuff up on the walls of the apartment. It was moments like this when Peter loved his best friend most, and he let himself wrap himself up in the comfort of Ned’s voice.

“But yeah, so Betty said that I should wear a Human Torch costume, but no way, Johnny will think I’m trying to be an asshole. She said he would think it was hot, but I mean, who actually thinks someone else dressing up like them is hot?” Johnny, actually. “Anyway, I decided to go as Thor, but no wig. Not a fan of hairnets,” he rambled.

“What about Jordan?” Peter asked absentmindedly, handing him tape for the decorations. Ned stopped for a second, but then kept on taping.

“He’s, uh, not coming. We haven’t been talking really, not for a while, anyway,” he said, trying to look like it didn’t matter at all. When the hell had that happened? It must have been recently, because Peter would have remembered that.

“Are you serious? But you two-” Ned shook his head. “Since when?”

“A few days after you got arrested. Or, talked to, I guess. MJ said you didn’t actually get charged.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Peter asked, genuinely confused. He and Ned told each other basically everything.

“I didn’t want to bother you. You’ve just been going through it, and I didn’t want to put more on your plate.” Peter frowned at that. Yeah, he felt like shit, but he would have listened to Ned. That was his best friend, had been for years.

“What happened?” Ned shrugged, that same false casual look on his face.

“He basically said he didn’t want to date a guy who was friends with a murderer,” Ned said, rushing the words out. Peter reeled back, stunned. “I told him that it was fucked of him to say that, that there was no way you did anything, but he didn’t care. It doesn’t matter Peter, seriously. I don’t want to date someone who treats my best friend like that.” His voice was so earnest that Peter almost wanted to cry. Here he was, the reason behind his friend being broken up with, and Ned wasn’t even mad at him. He didn’t deserve him.

“Does anyone else know?” Peter asked, keeping his voice down.

“I don’t think so. I think MJ might suspect it, but that’s because MJ knows everything. I just didn’t feel like hashing it out with everyone, they would have gone and freaked out on him in your honor. Though, to be honest, I would have joined them on that,” he joked.

“I guess that leaves you the chance to scoop up Johnny tonight, then, since he thinks Thor is the hottest Avenger,” Peter said, trying to match Ned’s energy. Screw Tony and his ‘you’re not trying’ bullshit. He was trying very hard not to be the definition of an emotional black hole right now.

“Yeah, sure. I heard him talking about how he plans on going home with someone tonight and getting numbers from the runner-ups,” Ned scowled. Goddamn it. Peter wanted to point out that that was only the plan because Johnny assumed Ned was going to be with Jordan tonight, but that wasn’t his secret to spill. He probably had mentioned it without knowing Ned was in hearing distance, the jackass. Peter loved him, but sometimes he really did want to throttle him.

  
“Just trust me, Ned, talk to him tonight, okay? I promise, it’ll go better than you think. Now have fun with the rest of this, I need to go figure out my costume.” That was all he was going to say on the matter, if they still hadn’t confessed their feelings by the end of the night, he was going to wash his hands of them.

He handed Ned the tape and dashed, hearing Miles yell something about his not having his costume planned yet. Even if he hadn’t been sad, chances were he’d still be doing a last-minute costume.

* * *

Peter hadn’t originally been in the mood for the party, but with a cup of basically eighty-percent vodka in his hand, it was slightly tolerable. Johnny had taken it upon himself to invite what looked like the majority of the building into their tiny apartment, so many people that they actually just left their front door open to make it easier.

It was loud, messy, and crowded. He could barely hear himself think over the sounds of music and talking, the clink of bottles, and the sound of people egging each other on as they played drinking games. Everyone was dressed up, some people in fantastic costumes, others in wild, last-minute outfits. He was definitely in the second group.

What mattered most about Halloween was the candy and getting tipsy, not really the costumes. Most of the time, at least the past two years, he and his friends usually came home wearing someone else’s spilled drink, so it didn’t really matter to him. He had thrown on a yellow sweater and a button-down, and put on some old glasses. After making a pair of ears, he was all set. It wasn’t the most fun, but every person he had seen tonight, even the people who were already drunk, had been able to guess who he was.

He took a sip from his cup, checking his phone anxiously. There were no messages from the drone he had sent out. He knew there was no real reason to check it-Miles was checking it too, since he was the one on tonight, but it was a nervous habit at this point. Add in the fact that it was a Saturday in October, and there were no doubt Halloween parties happening all over the city, he couldn’t help but feel a little worried. If Toomes wanted to find another victim of opportunity, it wouldn’t be hard to separate someone from their group of friends.

“C’mon, Pete, play with me!” He looked up to see Johnny, who was jogging towards him to pull at his arm. “Harley tapped out, I need a pong partner,” he pouted. Johnny and Ned had had similar ideas, with Johnny in his own Thor costume. Peter wasn’t sure if Betty had somehow convinced them both to go as Thor (coincidentally, he was the Avenger Ned thought was the hottest too) or if Johnny and Ned were already acting like an old, married couple who showed up in the same outfit.

“Go ask Ned,” he shouted, trying to be heard over the music. Johnny rolled his eyes once he heard his comment.

“I can’t ask him, I want him to watch me play. That way I can win and he’ll think it’s hot and he’ll fall in love with me,” he rambled, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“Go ask Gwen, then, you two will be unstoppable,” he sighed, pointing towards where Gwen was flirting with Riri. Johnny sighed, but stomped off, going to Gwen and grabbing her arm. The cup of alcohol helped, but he was quickly reaching his limit of “fun” tonight. Usually, he loved Halloween, and it was a bummer that he felt so shitty, but his bed was calling him. Maybe he’d be able to convince his brain to sleep somehow?

“Long night already, huh?” Well, fuck. Peter turned to see MJ staring at him, wearing a billowing white dress.

“Yeah, with Johnny already a few in, it’s bound to be a long one.”

“I like the costume. Arthur is pretty accurate for you,” MJ said, looking at him up and down. For once, MJ didn’t sound as confident as usual. Not that he wanted MJ to feel uncomfortable, but it was nice to know it wasn’t just him who didn’t know how to act around her. Were they supposed to go to how they always were? Or be more formal? Or less formal, since she liked him, but just didn’t want to be with him? He rushed to answer, trying to push the thoughts away in his brain.

“Thanks, Ned and I always watched it together. I like the Beatrice costume,” he said, trying to act normal. It was normal to compliment a friend, right? Especially if they looked super beautiful?

Okay, so this wasn’t his strong suit.

MJ didn’t seem to pick up on his panic (and if she did, she didn’t say anything), just giving him a little smirk.

“So you did end up watching it with Miles,” she said, and Peter remembered the semester where Miles had been forced to design set backdrops for his job at the time. He had made them all (aka, Peter, since everyone else lied to get out of them) watch Shakespeare adaptations with him, taking notes feverishly.

“It was good, what can I say,” he shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. The two of them were silent, not saying anything, and Peter could feel the momentary lapse in tension fade away. Once again, it was awkward.

“Peter-”

“Sorry, I-”

They both stopped, looking at each other. Peter had been going to make up some excuse about having to take a call, which wasn’t entirely wrong. He did have a ton of voicemails from May and Tony to listen to, but there was no way he was doing that. But MJ clearly wanted to talk, so he stayed silent, motioning for her to talk first.

“I wanted to say sorry,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. Damn, this was the kind of conversation they probably should have in a quieter area, though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear everything she had to say. Especially since it was probably about that night on the roof.

“C’mon, let’s go out on the fire escape,” he said, taking her hand and bringing them to his room. There were tons of people in the way, but thankfully, using a little bit of his super-strength helped him push through without too much problem. Once they got in his room, he closed the door-he didn’t need random people coming in-and went to open his window for the two of them. He needed fresh air. He climbed out, waiting for MJ to follow him and sit down before talking.

“To be honest, MJ, you don’t really have to apologize. You were right, on the roof.” Better to bring it up before she did. She looked at him, puzzled.

“Peter, that’s not what I wanted to apologize for. I stand by what I said on the roof. I am sorry for hurting your feelings, but I don’t think us dating right now would be a good idea.” Yikes. Again, he knew she was right, but hearing it again still felt awful. “I wanted to apologize for May and Tony.” Oh. He had figured that MJ had talked to them-he had assumed all of his friends had-but he was surprised that she was actually apologizing. “Not that I don’t stand by what I said to them, either. I am worried about you, and I do think you need help. But looking back, it probably wasn’t the best way to go about it.” Peter shrugged. There wasn’t really a point hashing it out now, because to be frank, he wasn’t really sure what a good way to go about it would have been. He would have been defensive no matter what. He said as much to MJ, feeling a bit of guilt for how she chewed on her lip in frustration.

“I just don’t know how to help anymore, Pete. You keep on going between acknowledging that this has to do with Harry, and then denying that it does. And Ned told me what’s going on, how you’ve been doing-I know what I did was right, but I feel like I’m part of this. Part of why you’re feeling like this.” MJ looked almost defeated, like she wasn’t sure what to do. He had only seen that look on MJ once, last year.

“MJ, no, look,” Peter said, leaning forward and putting a hand on hers, “this? My being genuinely shit at taking care of myself and responding normally to stuff that happens? That’s on me. That’s on me and my messed up brain. I mean, yeah, I was upset by what happened on the roof. Because how could I not be, with the way I feel about you?” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair and tugging on the strands slightly. “But that’s not on you, y’know? If I wasn’t a hot mess of a person right now, I don’t think I would be, y’know, in general,” he said, making a hand-waving motion towards himself. “That problem already existed. You didn’t make it worse, okay? You never could.”

“But-” Peter shook his head, squeezing her hand.

“MJ, I know you hate being interrupted, but I’m not going to let you try and blame yourself, okay? Or try to come up with a reason how it could be your fault even a little bit. That’s what I do,” he said, trying to joke. “And anyway, as everyone seems to forget, there is still a serial killer on the loose who’s trying to make a point to me.”

“Gwen said that she and Miles thought you were focusing too much on the Toomes angle,” MJ said, playing with one of the necklaces she had on. This one was gold, but around her neck was the chain that he knew was part of the Dahlia necklace.

“Because I know it’s him. I get it, it’s impossible to be in two places at once, but I know in my gut that that’s what’s going on,” Peter sighed, the sounds of the party filling the silence between them. Finally, MJ spoke up.

“I believe you, Peter. I don’t know how it could be possible, but I know you. And if you think that it’s him, I trust you. You’ll figure out how, okay?” Peter nodded, and MJ smiled then, a real smile that physically made his chest hurt. They were outside and could just see the stars from where they were sitting, but MJ blew all of them out of the water.

It was funny. She didn’t want to be with him, and yeah, that hurt. But being with her and just talking, just seeing her smile? It completely erased that feeling. It was like a momentary reprieve from carrying the load of sadness that had been strapped on his back for the past few weeks. It was still there, he could still feel it, but it felt a little bit lighter, knowing MJ believed in him like this.

“I’m going to go back to the party, loser,” she said with an almost fond tone to her voice. “Don’t sit out here too long, you’ll freeze.” She took her hand out of his-had they been holding hands that entire time?-and went back through the window, leaving him there on the fire escape. He could hear her go back into the party, and the close of his bedroom door.

He let himself bask in that feeling of strength. He knew it wasn’t healthy to rely on that feeling; it wasn’t MJ’s responsibility to make him feel better and it wouldn’t be fair to her for him to only feel better when he was around her. But in that moment, he let himself just breathe, feeling clearer than he had since that night on the roof. He could think again, the fog of sadness clearing up just a bit so he could see more than just his feet in front of him.

MJ was right, as per usual. He kept on swinging from acknowledging what was wrong to denying it entirely. And that was exhausting. He wasn’t sure if he knew how to stop that, but he didn’t want to keep doing this, he realized. He was tired. He was tired of hurting people. He had been feeling so badly he hadn’t even thought of how his friends and family would react. Of course they blamed themselves, he would have too if he was in that position. He couldn’t keep doing that to them anymore.

He was about to go inside when his phone beeped, and he looked down to find the screen lighting up.

The drone had found something. He listened to hear if Miles was coming, straining his ears above the sound of the party, and he could hear him arguing with Johnny. Maybe he had his phone on silent? Or couldn’t hear it?

Or maybe his phone was going off for a reason.

If Toomes could be in two places at once, there was a possibility that he could make sure the drone only contacted Peter. The man had shown he was clearly skilled with technology. His phone continued to beep, showing a spot near the zoo.

_You should go get Miles_ , Harry-not-Harry said. _He’s contacting you directly now, it's not safe. And you still haven’t gained back all the weight you lost to win a fight easily._

Harry-not-Harry had a point. He wasn’t physically in the best condition right now. But if Toomes was reaching out to him-and only him-with this newest crime? He meant for Peter to be there, and Peter alone. Clearly, the man wasn’t above killing. Who’s to say he wouldn’t hurt Miles?

He had to do this alone.

Peter put his phone on silent, muting the beeping, and slipped quickly back in through his window. Tony had never given him his suit back after the stabbing, so all he had was the old uniform. The uniform without Karen.

_Peter! You can’t go out to fight a serial murder without your AI!_

It didn’t matter if he couldn’t. There wasn’t room for couldn’ts. He had to do this. He needed to do this, to end this. He wasn’t sure if he would survive if he didn’t.

He wasn’t sure if he would survive if he did.

He got dressed quickly, shucking off the Arthur costume and pulling on the suit. It wasn’t the best move, sneaking out of the apartment with it already on, but he hoped that with all the Halloween parties going on, people would just figure he was a Spiderman look alike. He left back out the window, giving his room a final look before shutting it behind him.

He jumped off the fire escape onto the wall of the building next to him, climbing up onto their roof. He had no AI in this suit, but he had his phone with him, and he took a quick look at the drone’s location to figure out the fastest way to get there. After a split second, he was off, jumping and swinging to get to Toomes.

It felt different, he realized on his way there. He knew somehow that he wasn’t going to find a body this time. It was different, Toomes had behaved differently by messing with the drone. The ball was in his corner now to adapt to the change and do what he needed to do. He wasn’t going to let this go on any longer. He just hoped he would be able to stop the man without having to hurt him too badly.

Peter had changed a lot since Harry had died, but he was staunch on killing being the utmost, most desperate last resort.

In a few minutes, he had gotten to the small side street near the zoo, and he let go of his web, dropping to his feet. It was quiet, with no one around. That alone made his stomach knot and his nerves tell him to run. He lived in one of the most populated areas in the world, there was always someone around walking or talking.

He peered down the small alley to the left of him, and that’s when he saw it. A glowing blue light, hidden behind a trash can and a few boxes. It was an unnatural sort of blue, so bright that it almost hurt his eyes. Peter walked towards it, a sick feeling in his stomach once he got closer.

Sitting inside an old crate was the Tesseract. Oh, this was not good.

Peter knew he needed to call Tony, call Miles, call Gwen, hell, call literally anyone. But the blue of the Tesseract was almost hypnotizing, making him move even closer and crouch down without him realizing it. In the second before his fingers touched it, time seemed to stop like it had right before being stabbed.

For once, though, rather than all of the choices he made leading up to that moment racing in his head, the unanswered calls from May and Tony were all he could think of. He hadn't planned on answering them anytime soon, figuring with a kind of naivety he should have known better to harbor that for him, time wasn’t guaranteed.

Then his fingers touched the surface, and he was sucked away.

* * *

Going through the Tesseract was like nothing he had ever felt before.

It made sense, of course. It’s not like he had ever gone through a wormhole before, or that it was something he could read about and get an idea of what it would be like.

It didn’t hurt, but it did feel weird. He could feel his body moving and pulling, but he was aware of it in the way that a person was aware of cars behind them on the highway. He couldn’t see what was happening, like it was a perpetual blind spot while he was driving. He wasn’t sure how long the process took, it felt like forever and also no time at all. But he didn’t really mind. It was peaceful, really.

Without any warning, though, he was spat out, landing flat on his face on a cement floor. It was still night time, wherever and whenever he was, the moon shining through a broken window above him. He sat up, looking around to see that he was in what looked like an abandoned warehouse, filled with old crates and dusty machinery. The building itself was quiet, but he could hear the sounds of laughing and talking and music faintly outside. Sounds of life.

Peter got up, looking around. There was no body, no sound of a threat. It seemed like he was really alone. He took his phone out of his pocket, noticing that his phone read about twenty minutes earlier than it was when he had last checked it. It still read the same date, though. Weird.

He turned on the flashlight and started to look around, hoping that he would find something, or at least the way out. The building was huge, full of looming, foggy shapes and cobwebs in the corners. Other than hearing rats scurrying around, it seemed like Peter was alone. Hell, he couldn’t even see where the Tesseract was. He had assumed it would come with him, but that was only a guess. Was it still in that box near the zoo?

He was looking around when he noticed something in the corner, a large looming shape. He went closer, shining his flashlight to see a tarnished, worn carousel horse staring back at him. The paint was chipped, showing the wood underneath. It smelled old, and Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if he had touched it and it would have collapsed, hollowed out by mites long ago.

It was what was behind the horse that was chilling, though. A large cage was tucked away into the corner, a blanket on top of it so that if you were walking by, you wouldn’t notice anything. Peter listened to hear the sounds of breathing, but there was nothing coming from the cage. Taking a deep breath, he crouched down and flashed the light in.

The cage was filled with things. A pair of white shoes, a bracelet, glasses, a set of keys, a familiar-looking knife, in addition to a pile of other junk. Peter looked closer, his stomach turning when he realized that all the objects were dotted with blood. The shoes and the knife-

That had been the knife that stabbed him. And those shoes-Elizabeth Avila had a pair of white shoes on before she had died, her roommate had shared that with the police. The shoes that weren’t on her feet when he had found her body.

Toomes had led him to his trophies. Peter thought he was going to be sick, and he moved to throw up away from the items. If he was going to lead anyone back here, he had to make sure he didn’t destroy the evidence.

That’s when it happened, so quickly that he wasn’t even able to think. As he moved to get up, he felt a heavy weight drop on his back and arms wrap around his throat, and he acted on instinct. He slammed his back against the wall as hard as possible, hearing something crack behind him. He felt the hands slip from his throat, and he did it again, feeling the weight lift off of him.

He dashed away, turning to see the figure stand up, bruises already forming against his bald head. He looked up, staring Peter directly in the eyes.

Adrian Toomes.

Except-it wasn’t exactly Toomes. He was bald, for one thing, and frail-looking, much frailer than the Toomes that had driven him to homecoming. He looked older, too, wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that just weren’t there before. Peter could understand jail aging a person, but this didn’t make sense.

“Peter Parker, slippery as always,” he said, giving him a grin. He didn’t seem to be bothered despite the bruises and the fact that Peter had repeatedly hit him into the wall. There was no way. Toomes wasn’t anything to laugh off, but Peter could literally kill someone if he threw them the right way.

There was no way this was the Toomes in his prison. It was like he was a Toomes from a different world.

Peter’s eyes settled on the blue light coming from inside the man’s coat.

Or a Toomes from a different reality.

The answer was so simple, overcoming him all at once. Of course a person couldn’t be in two places at once. But two different versions of the same person, from two different realities-well, his Toomes could be sitting in jail, and the Toomes in front of him had the chance to kill whoever he wanted. It was like Matt had said. The impossible was possible.

“I guess that’s the same in every reality, huh?” Peter asked, trying to keep his voice calm and confident. Toomes threw his head back and laughed. It sounded like nails scraping against a chalkboard.

“Smart in every reality too. You figured it out, finally,” he said, eyes looking over him hungrily. It made Peter want to shudder.

“It took me long enough,” Peter admitted. “I should have realized it when you left your tooth behind.” Toomes frowned at that, the first time his maniacal grin disappeared. Huh. He didn’t seem to like the reminder that he had lost it, probably didn’t like the challenge to his power. “Why are you here?” Villains usually loved to talk and monologue, which tended to give him a chance to think of what to do next.

Peter was pretty good at thinking on his feet, but this was the kind of situation where he needed to understand what was going on, not just beat the man into the floor. Thankfully, this alternate Toomes was like most villains, and took the bait.

“Do you understand what this cube is, Peter?” He asked, staring at him again, the hungry look back in his eyes.

“It’s a source of arguably unlimited power, over space and time,” Peter said, remembering what Tony had told him about the Battle of New York.

“Very good. With it, you can open wormholes to wherever and whenever you want. Across universes, across time and space.”

“And you came here, for me.” It wasn’t a question. Peter was more than well aware of the answer, the point was just to keep him talking.

“Not intentionally. You had a debt to pay, though, and I figured I might as well,” he said, moving forward and circling around Peter. He tensed up, ready to fight, but the man laughed. “No need to do that. I like my meat fresh, unbothered. Surprised.” Jesus.

“I’ve never even met you before, I couldn’t possibly owe you anything,” Peter said, his voice low. Toomes stopped, staring at him.

“I suppose you don’t know then, yet. I’m from the 1930s, Peter, from a different Earth. And just like this Earth, you’re there too. A different version of you, of course. Older. Far less fun to play with, but still a good time.” Peter stayed still, waiting for him to continue. “We met when I bit the throat out of your dear Uncle Ben. You know, all humans taste good, but him in particular? He was delicious,” he snarled, the missing tooth a gaping hole in his grin.

Peter thought he was going to throw up.

“You eat people?” Toomes nodded, looking at his dirty nails.

“That was my act, you know. Back when I was kept in a cage like that one. They’d let me out to perform, and I’d bite the heads off chickens. Too squirmy, you see. A chicken knows when it’s about to die. But a human? The element of surprise freezes you. And the screams once a person realizes they’re being eaten alive? Delicious.” Peter was trying to focus, but the thought of this monster killing Uncle Ben-eating him-he was furious.

“Except for me. Considering I was able to bash you into a wall,” Peter said, his voice ice cold.

“Mm, that does seem to be a problem,” Toomes sighed. “After I killed your dear Uncle Ben in my reality, the other you was furious,” rolling his eyes. “At first, I couldn’t understand the sentiment. And then I saw you with her.” His face was tight, and Peter had a feeling he was getting closer to this all. When criminals got emotionally compromised, they got sloppy.

“With who?”

“Being in the circus, treated like a freak, I never saw myself as a family man. There was this woman though, once. She was fascinated by me, pulled me aside after my act and had me fuck her against the tent. I didn’t think anything of it. She came to find me a few months later, after we had moved on. Told me she was pregnant. I told her to get rid of it, but she didn’t. Again, sentiment. She had a daughter, named her Elizabeth.” Toomes took a knife out of his pocket and started twirling it.

“So who do I see years later, walking with you on the way back from your office? I see my Elizabeth, arm in arm with you. And months later, you let her die,” Toomes said, his voice accusatory.

“I didn’t let her die,” Peter argued, even though technically, he had no idea what his alternate-reality self would have done. Still, Liz had been his friend in this reality. He had cared about her, he had liked her. He still felt bad about uprooting her life.

“She was thrown off a building by Norman Osborn to get to you,” Toomes argued, voice rising. “You tried to shoot a web and snapped her neck. You killed her. You seem to do that in every universe I visit, huh?”

Peter stepped back, shocked. He was numb, the words racing through his head. He had killed Liz, in the same way he had killed Harry. Maybe not him, exactly, but a different Peter Parker had.

“Every universe?” He asked, watching the man’s eyes light up.

“Oh, yes. You killed Gwen Stacy in another one, Michelle Jones in another. You just can’t seem to keep the people you love alive, huh, Peter?” The words cut deep into his chest, and he had to stop himself from running at the man and shoving him back into the wall, hard. He’d probably get stabbed again.

“Matter of fact, you can’t keep anyone alive. You let me murder all of those people, and you did nothing,” Toomes continued, his tone conversational.

“What the hell do you want?” Peter got out, squeezing his hands into fists. “Are you planning on eating me too?”

“I considered it, at first,” Toomes admitted, as if he wasn’t talking about brutally eating someone alive. “But you’re too useful, you see. I came across this little cube, here, after I murdered Norman. The fool was keeping it in a file cabinet, asking for it to be stolen. It sent me across the universe, and it brought me to you, every time. Different versions of you, of course. And while I killed the first few you’s I found, I realized that I could use you and the cube for something better. You’re going to come with me, back to my Earth. And you’re going to help me kill my Peter Parker.”

“And why would I do that, exactly?” Peter scoffed. The man flung the knife, and Peter dodged it just in time. As he was dodging it, however, Toomes rushed towards him, shoving him against the wall.

“Because I could pay a little visit to everyone you love and care about right now and be back before you had a second to blink,” he said, his breath smelling like rot. “Let’s be frank, Peter. All you’ll ever be is a killer. In my universe, in yours. In all the ones I visited. But you don’t have to be like the pathetic versions of you I’ve slaughtered. You could protect the people you care about here.” The knife was right next to his hand, having gotten wedged in the wall from Toomes’s throw. If he could just keep him talking long enough, Peter might be able to use it on him.

“And I’m sure after that you’ll just happily let me go,” he responded, bitterly staring at the man. Toomes laughed. He hoped he would take the bait, talk at him and not realize his mistake in time.

“You are smart. None of the other you’s even asked that. I suppose I’ll just dispose of you then. Or maybe have the cube send you into space. It doesn’t really matter. You’ll die, alone. But you’ll have died avenging the death that you caused. You’d make up for what you did. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m just supposed to leave, after all the people you killed?”

“I didn’t kill them, Peter. They were to get your attention, and rather than answer me sooner, you let more of them die. You’re a killer, face it.”

_Move, now Peter!_

Quick as he could, Peter yanked the knife out of the wall and shoved it forward, feeling it connect with Toomes’s flesh. It went through the muscle easily, thanks to his super-strength. Peter wasn’t sure what he would have done if he had had to put actual effort into it.

Toomes let out a scream, and Peter yanked out the knife, slashing it again as Toomes tried to grab at his throat. The man kicked him, hard, and Peter felt himself go flying. The cement pillar he hit crumbled on impact, and he felt a few of his ribs snap. Fuck, that stung. He couldn’t let up now, though, not with Toomes going back towards him.

He sprung up just in time before Toomes could stab him with another knife hidden in his coat, and the two begin to fight, hitting and punching whenever they could. Peter was fast and strong, but Toomes was agile and quick. He didn’t play fair, and he didn’t care about the pain he was causing Peter. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it.

He couldn’t give up, though. He needed the Tesseract, to at least try and send Toomes somewhere else. It was still in the man’s coat, tucked in some pocket from what he could see. He feigned his next punch, letting Toomes put up a defense so he could dart under his arm and grab into his coat. The move worked, and he felt himself grab onto the Tesseract, but then a blinding pain went through his shoulder, and he screamed. His grip on the Tesseract slipped as Toomes yanked him away and threw him onto the floor.

He risked a glimpse at his right shoulder and had to look away. Toomes had bitten through the suit, and the marks in his skin were sluggishly leaking blood. He may have done dissections before, but seeing himself hurt like that? Yeah, no.

Toomes loomed over him, blood in his mouth and a horrible look in his eye. He didn’t move right away, instead sneering down at him.

“You’re a joke, Parker. I offered you the chance to redeem yourself, and you still tried to fight back. Now I’m going to have to kill you.”

“Not sure I want to be redeemed by a murderer,” Peter wheezed, the pressure on his ribs increasing as Toomes dug his heel into his sternum.

“I guess I’ll have to go pay your family a visit after all. Dear Aunt May still lives in that apartment in Queens, right? Want to hear what I’ll do to her? Or maybe I’ll bring you there to see it yourself.” A wave of adrenaline rushed through him at the words, and he grabbed Toomes’s leg, hard enough for him to feel the bone shatter. The man let out a pained yell, and Peter swung him away from him, hoping the impact with the wall for the third time would knock him out.

Peter jumped up, stalking over to where Toomes was trying to get up, another knife in hand. He mimicked Toomes, pinning him down with a foot to the sternum while he dug around in his coat. Toomes wouldn’t give up, flailing around and grabbing a knife out of nowhere and stabbing it through his shin, but Peter just pressed down harder with his foot and gritted his teeth as he closed his hand around the Tesseract.

He pulled it away, staring at the cube in his pocket. It cast a bright blue light on the room, and Peter could see well for the first time the entire fight. More importantly, he could see Toomes below him, a fearful look finally on his face.

“You put that down, Peter,” he said, voice frantic. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I think I do, Toomes. I’m not letting you hurt another person, and I’m not letting you use me like a hitman,” Peter responded, twirling the Tesseract in his hands.

“You could send me far away, you might kill me,” Toomes argued, making Peter laugh hollowly.

“Oh, so you’ll kill random, innocent people, but you getting what you honestly deserve is where you draw the line?”

“I can leave you alone, Peter. If you give me the cube back, I can send you anywhere you want. A different universe, a different planet. You could live the same life out as this one, but not make mistakes. You could save Harry,” Toomes suggested, his voice low and insistent. “All you have to do is give me the cube.”

That stopped Peter right in his tracks. He knew he shouldn’t trust Toomes, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was something the Tesseract could do. Hell, it had brought Toomes from the 1930s’ to now. He could do what he wanted, he could go to be with Harry. He could save him, this time. He looked into the Tesseract, and he swore he could see Harry’s face looking back at him.

In his mind, Harry-not-Harry spoke up.

_The most obvious solution is usually the right one._ Peter looked back at Toomes, who was staring at him intently.

“Make the right choice, Peter. Don’t you want to be happy again? With Harry?”

_I want you to be happy._ But it wasn’t Harry’s voice this time, not Harry’s blue eyes in his mind. It was MJ’s voice, warm brown eyes and a smile like the stars.

“I will be,” Peter said quietly. “Goodbye, Toomes.” He focused his mind hard, thinking of an empty planet devoid of any life, and the Tesseract reacted, quickly pulling Toomes into it before the horrified look on his face could vanish.

The blue light of it dimmed slightly, but Peter could still see the room around him. There was still music and sound outside, life not disrupted from everything that had happened in this room. With the threat gone, his body started to react, sending him very strong messages that he had been hurt, and to take care of that sooner rather than later. He used the Tesseract to look for his phone, finding it underneath some bits of broken cement.

Thankfully, it still was working, though the screen had slightly cracked. To his surprise, almost ninety minutes had passed, and his screen was filled with notifications from his friends. He looked at the ones from Miles, wincing when he saw the messages.

_my name is: drone went off, going to go look. Stay at the party._   
_my name is: nothing here, false alarm_   
_my name is: where are you? MJ just asked me if she saw you_   
_my name is: you had better not have gone after whatever it is that set off the drone_   
_my name is: peter?_   
_my name is: just told johnny what was going on, we’re ending the party_   
_my name is: gwen and I are going to go look for you, text me if you see this_   
_my name is: we’re calling Tony_

He could see a bunch from his other friends, but he went for the ones Tony had sent, reading them quickly.

_irondad: kid, where are you?_   
_irondad: miles told me you left the party you guys were throwing, you better just be puking in some alleyway_   
_irondad: seriously, kid, where are you?_   
_irondad: getting worried, call me when you get this_   
_irondad: miles and gwen think the false alarm from the drone was because you went after what set it off. I swear to god, kid._   
_irondad: kid, please._   
_irondad: there’s literally a killer out there who was targeting you, peter._   
_irondad: i don’t want the last moment we had together to have been an argument_

Peter breathed deeply, holding his hands against his ribs, and pressed the call button.

“Tony? Yeah, Tony, calm down. Calm down, I’m fine! I’m okay. I mean, mainly. Anyway, can you come pick me up?”

* * *

“So, Spider-baby, how are we feeling today? I heard you were up late studying for your finals?” Tony asked, tossing him a wrench. Peter caught it without looking, hard at work on the newest drone he was building.

“Yeah, Ned and I were working, and then MJ and Gwen came by because Johnny and Miles had planned a movie night, and then they ended up roping us into it, but we hadn’t finished studying, so we had to do that,” Peter rambled, sitting back and looking at the drone. “What do you think?”

“Good work. Little too cutesy, for my tastes, but you do name them after Spongebob characters,” Tony teased, taking out a bag of trailmix and snacking on them. “How do you think you’ll do on the exam?”

“Pretty good, MJ and I are going to finish reviewing today,” he said, patting the drone on the head.

“Oh?” Tony said, smirking as Peter blushed. “How’s that going?”

“Tony, seriously?” Tony laughed, clapping him on the back.

A lot had changed since Peter had called Tony from Coney Island. Tony had been frantic, rushing over to him in the suit and checking him over. He had been furious when he saw the knife still in his shin and saw how beat up he looked, but had gone speechless when he saw the Tesseract in his hand.

Things had been kind of hectic, after that, with Tony insisting that Peter go to the Med-Bay and his calling all of his friends to let him know he was still alive. Peter had been amused to see that Tony really did have May and all of his friends on speed dial.

Explaining what had happened with Toomes had been harder, talking about the Tesseract and the alternate versions of him that had been murdered. He didn’t know how the Tesseract ended up in this Norman Osborne’s possession, considering it was supposed to be on Asgard still, but Tony had just said that he would get in contact with Thor.

Once he had healed up though, and the Tesseract was no longer in his possession, Peter was left with the aftermath of everything. His friends, panicked over his disappearance and shocked once he explained what had happened. May, frantic with worry and practically crushing him to her in a hug. And Tony.

He and Tony hadn’t talked much about what had happened with Toomes, other than when he told him about the Tesseract. They certainly hadn’t talked about the last argument they had had before the whole mess started. They had spent the past month and a half since then trying to get back to normal, trying to figure out a way to get Peter’s name out of the suspect list for the murders and explain what had happened to the public.

Thankfully, Miles and Gwen had helped him with that, coming up with an explanation and a way to get Peter back to patrolling. They had apologized for not fully believing him about Toomes, but they didn’t really have anything to apologize for. How were any of them supposed to foresee the impossible being possible?

The story was that Spiderman had been underground, hiding from the killer. The killer had used Peter as a taunt, because everyone knew that Peter Parker was friends with Spiderman. He had gone to fight the killer once Peter was “kidnapped” by the killer, saving the day and his long-time photographer. Poor Peter had unfortunately forgot what happened due to a hit to the head, and hadn’t been able to help the police.

The public had eaten the story up, and someone had started an online petition for Peter to help get his job back, since he had been framed by the killer when he was really the target. To Jameson’s dismay, he had practically been forced to hire Peter back or risk losing public support (and thus face a massive drop in subscriptions). Oddly enough, the public had run with the story and started theorizing that Spiderman was actually in love with Peter Parker, not just friends, and that’s why Peter had been kidnapped.

MJ had gotten a kick out of that one.

“MJ and I aren’t going anywhere right now, except to our favorite table at the library,” Peter said pointedly. Not that Peter hadn’t thought about more, but after talking with his new therapist, Valerie, he didn’t think that recovering from this whole mess was the best time to start a relationship.

That was another new thing, therapy. Peter had finally agreed to therapy once May and Tony had stopped fussing over him. He didn’t want to be stuck in that same cycle of sadness anymore. He couldn’t let something like this affect him again, not to the point of destroying himself and hurting the people around him.

Valerie was great, helping him work through his feelings of guilt, particularly about Harry. Peter was starting to realize that what he had considered “recovered” and “fine” before was just his being able to put up a particularly strong front. But the foundation of how he had been handling things? Well, that was like a hastily put together building, ready to crumble with any little stressor.

He was actually really considering how he was doing now, and he was realizing that his grief, while more manageable, was still a lot stronger than he thought it was. But he was working through it, trying to meet it where it was rather than squash it away with pain.

So no, things hadn’t really progressed with MJ, per se, but if it was going to happen, it would. And he felt in his gut that he would.

That was another thing, trusting his body with what it was trying to tell him. Like now-he could feel that Tony wanted to say something, wanted to talk to him.

“Are you okay, Tony?” Tony rolled his eyes, messing his hair up affectionately.

“I’m the adult here, kiddo. I just-we haven’t talked about it all, and I figured we should, sometime.”

“We could talk now,” Peter suggested, turning to look at him. Tony whistled at that, sitting down next to him after a moment.

“Where’s the Peter I know who would rather get his teeth pulled than talk feelings?”

“He went to therapy,” Peter said simply. “What’s up, Tony?” Tony sighed, twisting his wedding ring. It gave him a sense of deja vu, his mind flashing to that moment months ago, their argument a week after the ceremony. The more things seemed to change, the more some things stayed the same.

“I wanted to apologize. For what I said during that argument. Or really, I wanted to clarify,” he said, rushing to add on the last part. Peter couldn’t really look at him, the words he had said-God, Peter, I wish you hadn’t turned out like me-still hurting like a ton of bricks on his back.

“It’s fine, Tony, seriously.” Okay, not true, but some parts of training his brain to be more open about how he felt took longer than others. Therapy was a work in progress, after all.

“It’s not okay kid. What I said-it wasn’t fair of me to say that I didn’t want you to be like me. Kid, I know you’ve looked up to me. I’m not really sure why, I’ve made a hell of a lot of mistakes and acted like a complete jackass. When I said I wanted you to be happy, I meant that. Being like me-seeing you hurting so bad but pushing us away? God, it made me think of me. I never wanted you to feel like that, to hurt yourself and not let anyone else help. I wanted better for you, Peter,” Tony explained, and Peter looked up.

“Tony, I get what you’re saying, but if not being like you? If I’m being like me? I think you’re forgetting that ‘being like me’ can mean me being bitter and hurtful and cruel. I was so shitty to you and May, and my friends.”

“That’s not your fault, your body wasn’t getting enough food and you couldn’t help being a little cranky,” Tony argued, but Peter stopped him.

“Tony, I know you think it’s a bad thing to want to be like you, I do. I mean, I’m not trying to throw up in a wheelbarrow at an MIT party,” he said, causing Tony to make a little noise of protest. “But Tony, you’ve always taught me that being a hero means being accountable. Means making up for your mistakes. That night with Toomes,” he said, voice quiet, “he offered me the chance to go to a different reality.”

“Seriously?” Tony asked, voice incredulous. Peter hadn’t shared all the details with him right after he had been picked up, still processing over everything that had happened. It wasn’t even something he had told Valerie yet.

“Yeah. He offered me the chance to go to another reality. One where Harry was still alive.”

“And you didn’t want to?” Tony asked, voice just as quiet.

“I did. That was the thing, I really wanted to. I miss him, I probably always will. But I realized that as easy as that would have been, I’m happy now. Well, not in that exact moment, because to be frank, I felt like shit, but I knew I could be again. I couldn’t just leave behind the people I cared about, even if that was easier for me. I had spent the past month and a half hurting you all, and I knew I would have to fix everything, work on myself if I stayed. But I couldn’t just vanish on you guys. How could I be happy again, leaving you all behind?” He looked up at Tony, who was staring at him fondly.

“You know, Peter, I take it back. You aren’t like me. You’re better,” he said. He squeezed Peter’s shoulder, and looked back at the drone. “I love you a lot, kiddo.”

“I love you too, Tony.”

"Even if you do make ridiculous looking drones,” he added on, flicking the top of the machine.

“Hey!” Peter uttered, pulling it towards him. “Don’t do that, you’re going to hurt his feelings!” Tony started laughing at him, but helped him test out the drone, making sure that it picked up on all the stimuli it was trained to look for. They were just finishing up when he felt his phone buzz, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

_mj <3: try not to blow yourself up before our study session._   
_mj <3: see you soon, loser. Love you._

And at that moment, a grin on his face and his cheeks red, the warm feeling of happiness washed over him.

**Author's Note:**

> I sadly don't own Marvel or any of these characters :(  
> Let me know what you think, and seekrest, I hope you enjoyed your gift as much as I enjoyed writing it for you!


End file.
